Weaving Tangled Webs
by misanthrope1
Summary: Secrets have a way of coming out...Warning: Character Death, homosexuality
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This is not a companion piece for When I'm Dreaming. _

**Weaving Tangled Webs**

Carter opened the barracks door, shivering. The fragrant aroma of stew filled the room and Carter smiled. LeBeau hadn't cooked for weeks and any sign of normality made his heart lift. LeBeau nodded to him as he ladled stew into a small covered pot. "Smells great," Carter said.

"Merci, Andre. It is for Newkirk. Our Kommandant put him on bread and water rations for the two weeks he is in the cooler."

"Oh." Carter twitched. "Does Major Cole know?"

LeBeau scowled. "He knows. He has said it serves Newkirk right." LeBeau added rolls to a basket. "Newkirk needs more than bread and water."

Carter bit his lip. "Major Cole isn't that bad, LeBeau. He just has to get used to Newkirk's ways."

"Huh." LeBeau stirred the large pot again. ""You can think that. I think he's a pig."

"He's just different," Carter said miserably. "He can't be Colonel Hogan."

"Oui, c'est impossible." LeBeau fussed with the stew.

"Can I take that to Newkirk?" Carter asked. "I mean, I want to talk to him anyway."

"Good luck with that," came a voice. Kinch scrambled up the ladder. "Newkirk talks all the time but says nothing."

"He hurts, too," LeBeau said.

"Yeah, he sure acts like it." Kinch rolled his eyes. LeBeau scowled.

"And Major Cole? His performance has been good, would you say?"

"He's trying. He did leave Newkirk in the lurch on that cooler deal, I agree. Probably got tired of Newkirk's attitude."

LeBeau frowned. "Cole has treated Newkirk more than poorly."

Carter took the pot and basket. "I'll take it." He didn't want to hear another argument about Major Cole. Major Cole was not Colonel Hogan, everyone knew that. But Major Cole was here and that was that. Carter carefully made his way down the ladder and to the cooler. There he paused and listened. No sounds so he carefully pushed the block.

Newkirk turned his head as Carter entered the cell. "Got you some food," Carter said brightly.

Newkirk shrugged. "Not really hungry. Thanks, though."

"LeBeau says you have to eat."

"LeBeau worries too much." Newkirk picked up the pot. "Smells great."

Carter shoved his hands in his pockets. Newkirk's uniform hung loosely on him, an indication of how much weight he'd lost since Colonel Hogan's death. "Come on, eat." Newkirk gave him a glare but picked up the spoon. He ate a few bites reluctantly, tore apart a roll, chewing almost angrily. Carter leaned on the wall of the cell. "Newkirk, we need to talk."

"Go ahead."

"No. I mean, talk. You haven't really said anything since Colonel Hogan--since the Colonel left."

"You can say dead, Carter. It's what he is."

Carter winced. Newkirk watched him with the cool expression he'd worn since he'd learned about Colonel Hogan's death. Carter hated that look. It was emotionless, hard, a cynical smirk at the world and all in it. "You don't talk about it."

"And? What should I say? He's dead, that's it."

"He was our friend!"

"Didn't say he wasn't."

"You're not acting like it! I know you're hurting, too, but you act like it doesn't even affect you."

"So? How does that bother you?"

"You're my friend, damn it! I want to talk to you and I can't."

"You can talk all you want. If I'm not acting like you ruddy want, you can talk to LeBeau or Kinch." A sneer entered his voice. "Or maybe Cole."

"He's our CO, Newkirk."

"He's a right twit." Newkirk took a few more bites. "What else, Carter? I 'hardly want to talk about that arse."

"I just want to help."

"Help what? You can't raise the dead."

"Well, what can I do?"

"Absolutely nothing, Carter." Newkirk ate another bit of roll. He looked at Carter.

"What's going on with you? I know you're mad but it's not fair! You're mad at Kinch and it wasn't his fault and LeBeau and I had nothing to do with it!"

"Who said I'm mad at Kinch?'

"You blame him."

"I don't blame Kinch. He did what the gov'nor ordered. He left Colonel Hogan and came back here." Newkirk's stony voice didn't change. "I wouldn't 'ave but he isn't me."

"Colonel Hogan gave him a direct order! He wanted Kinch back here," Carter said, trying to explain.

"I know."

"And you're mad about that. It's not right, Newkirk, it's not fair!" Carter felt his despair and rage melting together.

"Grow up, Carter, life isn't fair!" Newkirk stood up, began pacing. "And yes, I'm mad! I'm mad at the whole bloody world! I'm mad at Kinch, LeBeau, you, Cole and everyone. I'm even mad at Hogan."

"He didn't ask to die, Peter."

"No, he bloody chose to!" Newkirk whirled. "Just let me alone, Andrew."

"Do you think you're the only one here?" Carter yelled, stomach churning. "He was a friend to all of us. It upset everyone in camp--heck, even Klink was upset."

Newkirk turned his back to Carter, leaned against the bars of the cell. "Just go away," he whispered.

"No! We're friends here, we work together. And you just don't care. He wasn't just my CO. He taught me, helped me. He was my friend, even a brother! And you act as if he was nothing to you. Heck, maybe Kinch is right and it isn't an act. But Colonel Hogan meant a lot to me, Kinch, and LeBeau. He was a good officer and a great guy and I'm just glad he never know knew what you think of him."

"Shut up, Carter!" Newkirk turned, eyes blazing in a way that made Carter take a step back. "You're upset?" Newkirk spat. He grabbed Carter's shirt. _"You're _upset? Let me get this straight. You, LeBeau, Kinch--you're ruddy unhappy and 'urt because you lost your CO, friend, and brother, right?"

"Exactly!"

Newkirk shook him, eyes turning shiny with either rage or tears or both, Carter didn't know. "I lost that, too, Andrew! I lost **all** that plus my _lover!_ Now tell me again you know 'ow I feel or how I don't care! He meant the bleedin' world to me!" He punctuated the last sentence with another shake.


	2. Chapter 2

Carter stared down at his bunkmate and friend, feeling his mouth slip open. "What?" he blurted.

Newkirk let him go, turned his back on him as he wiped his eyes fiercely. "He was my lover," he repeated in a low tone. "He and I, we'd been together bout a year or so."

"But--" Carter felt his world tip. "Colonel Hogan liked girls. So do you!"

Newkirk sat on his bunk, shrugged. "A bird now and then is nice. We did have appearances to maintain."

"You're --You and _Colonel Hogan?_ How?"

Newkirk cocked an eyebrow. "Are you asking for a demonstration?"

Carter jerked. "No! I just mean--you and Colonel Hogan?!"

Newkirk sighed, rubbing his face with both hands. "God, Carter, I'm not doing this. We were lovers. That's it."

He looked at Carter with a broken expression.

"Was this just, ah, sex?"

"No."

"I don't understand. You're not a homo. You're not one of them. You can't be!"

Newkirk recoiled as if hit. "Is that what you think of us? One of 'them'? Tell me, 'ow does anything change? Did the gov'nor save your life any less often because he and I were an item? Am I any different?'

Carter stumbled back against the wall of the cell. "But--homosexuals can't fight. I mean, they're nice boys and you're not like that. You're not--fancy or nancy. You can't be like that. It's not normal!"

"And this war bleedin' is? I'm me."

"But--Do you like--I mean, did you look at other people?" Carter felt his neck warm, thinking of all the showers he'd taken with Newkirk right next to him. Newkirk glared at him.

"I was _in love_ with the gov'nor. And he was a jealous soul. Like me. No, I wasn't looking at other people. Your virtue is safe."

Carter felt his face flush. "I just--I never met any people like you before."

"I'm sure you have. They just didn't tell you."

Carter shook his head. "I can't believe it."

Newkirk sighed. "Carter, I can't do this. Leave me be for awhile, huh?" He handed Carter the half filled pot. "Thanks. Tell Louie thanks, too. He doesn't need to make anything for me. I'm not that hungry these days."

"You have to eat, Newkirk." Newkirk shrugged. "I won't tell anyone. I mean about you and the Colonel."

"Say anything you want." Newkirk stared at the bars.

Head reeling, Carter left, clenching the pot to his chest like armor. In the tunnel, he leaned against the wall and wept.

LeBeau walked towards the cooler, muttering. Carter had not yet returned and he wanted to know if Newkirk was eating. He turned the corner, found Carter huddled against the wall. LeBeau knelt beside him, hugging him tight. "Mon ami, what is wrong?"

"LeBeau. It's--ah--" Carter wiped his face. "I'm just confused."

"Pourqoui?"

"It'd just--I can't tell you, Louis."

LeBeau drew his brows together. "Why can't you tell me?"

"I said I wouldn't. I just don't understand some things."

"All right. Can you wait here for me? I must check with Newkirk but I will be back in a moment."

"He ate a little. Said he wasn't hungry."

LeBeau frowned. "Wait here." He picked up the still warm pot and headed for the cell. In the dim cell, he saw Newkirk was laying on the bunk, watching the ceiling. "Newkirk, you need to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"What did you tell Carter?"

Newkirk shrugged. LeBeau bit back his rage and sat on the edge of the bunk. "Is this about Colonel Hogan?"

"Go away, Louie."

"Non. You have sulked for too long. You do not cry, you do not say anything but chatter endlessly. Now, Carter is sobbing and you act as if you don't care."

"Maybe I don't. Maybe Carter just had to ruddy learn about life."

LeBeau tilted his head. "Did you tell him about you and mon Colonel?"

Newkirk froze. Only his gaze flicked to LeBeau yet LeBeau felt the cot tremble as if Newkirk was shaking. His whisper came minutes later. "What do you know?"

_Mon Dieu, I am right. _ LeBeau patted Newkirk's knee. "Mon ami, you think a Frenchman does not know about l'amour?"

Newkirk sat up slowly. "When? When did you know?"

LeBeau smiled sadly. "Just right now. I did have suspicions. I saw mon Colonel watching you one day. And you, you just seemed to shine at times. I dismissed it because you and he always found young women." He paused. "You loved him deeply then?"

Newkirk looked away. "You could say that. You didn't say anything? You're not angry?"

LeBeau blinked. "Why?"

"Because I am a homosexual."

"So was my cousin. It bothered me when I was much younger but as my cousin reminded me, it left more women for me. And he died fighting the Boche. I came to understand it was different but did not harm me. You are my friend, my frere. Should I care for you or mon Colonel any less?" LeBeau touched Newkirk's shoulder. "I can not tell you how sorry I am. "

Newkirk shuddered. Then he gave a mewl like something LeBeau had never heard before, and then broke into gut wrenching sobs. LeBeau wrapped his arms around him, pulled Newkirk into his chest. He crooned wordlessly, patting Newkirk's back. Newkirk cried with an agony LeBeau hadn't conceived of, as if red hot hooks were tearing him inside out. LeBeau stroked his hair with a shaking hand, held Newkirk close. _Kinch, mon ami, you should see this, see how Pierre does not grieve. _A shuffle and he turned his head. Carter stood beside them, looking awkward and miserable. LeBeau blinked.

"I'm so sorry, Peter," Carter said. He dug into his pocket, took out his handkerchief. "Here," he said, handing it to LeBeau.

"Merci," LeBeau said. Carter squeezed on the bunk on the other side of Newkirk, laid a hand on his back. Newkirk finally shuddered to a stop.

"Thanks." Newkirk wiped his face and nose. "Umm..."

"Eat," LeBeau ordered.

Newkirk meekly finished his meal, not looking at either of his friends.

"I'll bring breakfast in the morning," Carter said.

"I'm not hungry, Carter."

"You look like hell."

"Really, I'm fine."

LeBeau shook his head. "None of us are fine, Pierre."

"I'm just tired."

LeBeau got a sick feeling, studying his friend. _He is broken inside_. He gently touched Newkirk's shoulder and stood up. "I will make you some breakfast," he insisted. "And coffee. Get some sleep."

"Yeah," Carter said.

Newkirk rolled his red rimmed eyes. "Yes, mums."

LeBeau and Carter left, each hugging Newkirk. "Was that why you are upset?" LeBeau asked Carter once they were in the tunnel.

"Yeah. How can Newkirk be like that? I mean, he seemed so normal. And the Colonel? He had all kinds of women!"

"Many men can not admit who they love, Andre. So they have women to be their beard."

"Their what?"

"Their beard, their cover. How much did you hear, anyway?"

"From your cousin on. It doesn't bother you?"

"Non. Michele and I were very close. He explained it to me very well. Both he and his lover Paul were killed when the Germans invaded France. If Newkirk and Colonel Hogan made each other happy, why should it bother me?"

Carter nodded. "I guess you're right." He smiled. "It's just confusing. To me, anyway."

"He is still Newkirk."

"He's, um." Carter shuffled a little.

"Did you know any Negroes before you met Kinch? I mean as a friend."

"No," Carter said.

"I am sure you had ideas about blacks then."

"Yeah, you're right." When he looked at LeBeau, his eyes were clear. "LeBeau, he's cracking. Newkirk, I mean."

LeBeau slowly nodded. "Oui. I know." He rubbed the small pot nervously.

"So what do we do?"

"I don't know, Carter."

**


	3. Chapter 3

Kinch rubbed his temples slowly. Exhaustion pulled at every muscle and his head throbbed slowly. The past five weeks had been the worst in his life. From losing Colonel Hogan to dealing with Major Cole, he had never felt so stressed. Guilt, anger, despair all mixed to form iron weights that seemed to only get heavier. _I left him to cover us alone. It's my fault._ He tried to push that thought away. He still remembered the look Newkirk had given him when he'd said Hogan had ordered him away. And then the news. Nobody had said anything bad to him--to the contrary, everyone had been very sympathetic. Only Newkirk had gone--odd and that was to everyone. Kinch sighed. _I don't understand him at all. He's so--weird. He jokes, he laughs but everything now has a hidden razor edge, a cruelty. Like a dog who wags its tail, looks friendly and everyone forgets about the teeth until it crunches your arm. And worse, it's still wagging its tail while sinking fangs into your flesh._

Voices came to him and he jerked as Carter and LeBeau came into view. LeBeau held a pot, still smelling of the delicious stew he'd made that evening. Yet both men looked worried. "Hey," Kinch said. Major Cole may be their CO but he still felt responsible . They were Colonel Hogan's men and Hogan had entrusted them to him. "What's wrong?"

"Just Newkirk."

"What is it?"

"We were talking to Newkirk." Carter pulled up a chair.

"Newkirk talks?" Kinch jested.

"He told us a lot," LeBeau said. "He is upset, Kinch." He frowned. "Perhaps more than upset."

"If he told you that, Newkirk must have been hit on the head. Or he's simply being Newkirk and chattering on."

"I am worried, mon ami."

"Me, too," Carter said. "He's so--angry."

"Mad at me," Kinch said softly.

"No," Carter denied. "He said he's mad at the world. The world, Kinch, not you, not LeBeau."

Kinch inhaled. "Oh, I really don't like that."

"I understand it. I have been mad many times at the world," LeBeau admitted.

Kinch looked thoughtful. "For five weeks?"

"Newkirk is very hurt. And he shares little. He talks a lot but does not tell of his pain."

Kinch sighed. "I know Major Cole isn't really being great to you or him. I'm sorry, LeBeau. He's obviously not used to working with Europeans."

"London is tres stupid. We are many nations. How could they not know that?"

"Hogan was American, " Carter remarked, stung.

"Colonel Hogan was unique. He understood us. And he listened. Cole simply spits out orders, " LeBeau said.

"He's not so bad." Kinch needlessly checked his headphones. "He's just different."

"He's been all right," Carter agreed.

"So you two say. He does not call you tiny." LeBeau scowled.

"That was once. He was trying to joke," Kinch said.

"I did not find it funny. Major Cole did not find Newkirk calling him Ox-man funny."

Kinch smiled. "True. You're not an officer, Louis."

"Perish the thought," LeBeau mumbled.

"We can't keep comparing Cole and Colonel Hogan. It's not fair," Kinch said.

"Sometimes I wonder if it is good that I stay on. Perhaps someone else would be better." LeBeau frowned

"We need you, Louis! We're a team. Colonel Hogan would have wanted us to stick together!" Carter blurted.

"Oui, you are correct." LeBeau fiddled with a scrap bit of wire. "He does not like my cooking. Major Cole."

"He likes it. He doesn't like all of it," Kinch said.

"Hamburgers," LeBeau muttered.

"I like hamburgers," Carter said. LeBeau snorted. "Newkirk likes fish and fries and you don't think that's nasty."

"He is English. It is what they eat. I wish I could make some for him now."

"Yeah. Poor guy," Carter agreed.

Kinch looked suspiciously at his friends. "Is there something else I should know about?"

LeBeau and Carter looked guilty. "Non," LeBeau mumbled.

"It's nothing," Carter added. "I'm going to get some sleep." He hurried off and LeBeau shrugged.

"He is worried about Newkirk cracking."

"I can talk to Newkirk."

LeBeau frowned. He studied his hands. "You can try."

***


	4. Chapter 4

*

In the barracks, Carter carefully, quietly removed the loose wall board above Newkirk's bunk, revealing a large niche. Newkirk's paperback books rested on a 'shelf'. Some were in German, paperback novels Newkirk filched from the guards. Others were similar cheap novels except in English. Carter hoped to find something to read, to escape into. Then Carter raised an eyebrow. There was also a US training manual and a book of Shakespeare. Carter lifted one German novel out, flipped through it. When he reached for another, his fingers then brushed a soft surface. He pushed books aside, removed a kerchief wrapped bundle. When he opened it, he found a glossy wooden box, carved with oak leaves and vines. Gently he touched the lid, carefully opened it. A bundle of photos. A book of Shakespeare's poems and quotations. A folded piece of paper. Carter opened it, stared at a black and white sketch of Colonel Hogan. Simple yet beautifully executed, the sketch made Carter's eyes blur with tears. Hogan's bomber jacket hung in elegant folds and the artist had even caught Hogan's impudent smile. Carter refolded it and tucked it back into the box. He closed the box silently, replaced it in the wall, put back the books save one, and then put the wall board back into place.

He laid awake a long time that night. _What would I do? Losing my lover? Newkirk has no one to turn to, not really. Save LeBeau and me. I mean, Mary Jane broke my heart and everyone helped me. What can we do? And he can't talk about it. It's strange to me and Newkirk is my best friend. I don't know if we can tell Kinch even. I've never heard anyone cry like that. It was like his stomach was being ripped out. Poor guy. Colonel Hogan was always hitting on women. And just what did they do together? And why do I want to know? I can't believe I never guessed. When did they get together? How did no one catch them?_ _Newkirk--he's crumbling inside. What do I do?_

Schultz's yelling jerked Carter from half formed dreams. He stumbled outside, blinking and yawning. Major Cole pulled his coat tight. Klink dismissed the men quickly, calling Major Cole to his office. "Wonder what's up," Kinch muttered.

"Who knows? Come on, Carter. I need to hurry to make a breakfast for Newkirk."

"OK."

LeBeau made a plate of scrambled eggs and toast as Carter filled a thermos of black coffee. Kinch grabbed the basket. "I'll take it," he said. "It'll do Newkirk good to talk to me."

"Ah," LeBeau started. "Kinch, perhaps that is not such a good idea."

"Why not?"

Carter and LeBeau glanced quickly at each other, Carter feeling guilty again. "Newkirk is touchy," LeBeau finally said. "He may be odd this morning."

"I'll take my chances."

"Really, Kinch, you shouldn't," Carter babbled. "Newkirk hates mornings."

Kinch narrowed his eyes. "What is going on?" he demanded.

LeBeau bit his lip and Carter hoped he didn't look as pale as the Frenchman. Kinch stared at both of them coolly. "He's just odd," Carter said lamely. "Tired and complaining."

"What else is new?"

Carter nervously shuffled his feet. Kinch eyed them then left. LeBeau spat out a few choice French curse words (by this time, Carter knew them all) and Carter sighed. "Maybe he can help," he said.

"Maybe," LeBeau muttered.

Kinch bribed Schultz with a candy bar and slipped into the cooler. As he neared the cell, he caught the smell of damp leather and wet clothing. Newkirk huddled on the bunk. "Newkirk? LeBeau made you some breakfast," Kinch whispered. Newkirk unfolded, sat up.

"Not hungry," he said. "If you have some coffee, that'd be great."

"Black." Kinch handed him the basket. "Eat. Those eggs will get cold." Newkirk looked at him, shrugged, and took a swig of coffee. Tiny puddles of water dotted the cell floor and Newkirk shivered continually. "Where did you go?' Kinch demanded.

"Out." Newkirk picked at the eggs. "Don't fuss, Kinch. I didn't cause any trouble."

"What about footprints in the snow?"

"Taken care of. " Newkirk glanced at him. "I'm not a ruddy idiot."

"I don't know, Newkirk. You went wandering in the snow. I can't say that's the smartest thing to do."

"Gets boring locked in here, mate."

"Maybe you shouldn't have mouthed off to the Major so often." The words were out before Kinch could stop them. He tried to soften them with a teasing smile but the hardening lines in Newkirk's face told he he hadn't pulled it off.

"Maybe the bloody wanker could have told Klink it was him who ordered me to slash those tires and not leave me all alone! He didn't even ruddy defend me!"

Kinch sighed "He had to think up something fast and couldn't."

"And I take the fall."

"It' s not personal, Newkirk."

"Don't see you in here, mate."

"It's not like you're really in prison," Kinch argued. "You can leave the cell."

"Then you say I'm stupid."

Kinch gave up. "I didn't say you were stupid! I think it is stupid to walk in the snow and to hate Major Cole so much. He's trying. Your attitude doesn't make this transition any easier."

"Is that what it's called? I thought it was called trying to replace the irreplaceable."

"The mission here is number one, Newkirk. Colonel Hogan always said that."

"I know what he said." Newkirk finished the eggs. "Thanks for bringing the food, Kinch."

"You're welcome." Kinch noted Newkirk shivering again. "I'll send someone with more blankets."

"One blanket a cell, mate. That's the rule."

Kinch frowned. Newkirk gave him a sardonic smile, pushed damp hair from his face. In the dim light, he looked years older than he was, lines furrowing his brow. "Get some sleep," Kinch said.

"What else can I do?"

"I'll bring you a book."

"Don't go to any trouble."

Kinch glared and Newkirk laid back down. Kinch grabbed the basket and left. _No wonder the Major left him hanging, He's just being an ass! _Schultz nodded at him. "Kind of cold in the cooler, Schultz," Kinch said.

"That is why it is called the cooler," Schultz laughed.

"If Newkirk catches pneumonia, it'll be on your head."

"If the Englander catches pneumonia, it is because he acts like a_ dumkopf," _Schultz snorted. "He goes out at night and stands in the snow."

"What?"

Schultz looked surprised. "You do not know? He pays the guards to allow him to stand outside. Corporal Mueller, Corporal Schmidt, and I watch him. He stands by the grave of Colonel Hogan."

"Stands by the grave? Why?"

Schultz shrugged. "He just stands there. He causes no trouble and he is already in a prison camp. So we watch him and he stares at the snow."

"You better hope Blood and Guts doesn't catch you," Kinch said. _What is Newkirk doing? Colonel Hogan's grave? Is he grieving by himself? _

"Bah. It is only for a minute or two."

"Your funeral." Kinch hurried off, heading to Colonel Hogan's grave. Stalag 13's prisoner graveyard was thankfully small. Yet prisoners had died. Most were from illnesses, some from previously untreated injuries. A few were from being shot while trying to escape, all before Colonel Hogan's time. And Colonel Hogan was now one of that group. Kinch studied the crudely made cross.

_"There's too many, Kinch. Head back and I'll try to draw them off."_

_"Colonel, I can help."_

_"No, get back to camp and tell London we've got the pictures. Arrange a rendezvous with the Underground. I'll be there shortly."_

_"Colonel..."_

_"NOW, Kinch. And that's a direct order."_

_Kinch had nodded and reluctantly left, glancing once over his shoulder. When he next saw Colonel Hogan, the Army Air Corps pilot and crack spy was a bullet riddled corpse and the local SS were puffed with pride over killing the 'escaping prisoner' who had 'dared to shoot at them.' They didn't mention how many of them had died in the process. Kinch had hoped--still hoped--it was a lot. _

_Hochstetter had come, of course, paraded the corpse around and promising the prisoners it would happen to them if anyone else tried to escape. He also told Klink he expected the sabotage would cease._

_The next night, the men blew up a bridge._

Kinch walked to the cross, picked up what he thought was a dead leaf from the ground. It was, instead, a carved eagle, wings spread as if soaring. Kinch turned it over in his hands, ran his fingers over the slightly open beak. Magnificently feathered, all about it spoke of loving care. Kinch placed the figurine gently back at the foot of the cross. He headed back to the barracks. Carter and LeBeau played cards listlessly. Both gave him apprehensive looks.

"All alone?" Kinch asked.

"Oui. The Major is inspecting barracks with Klink and the others are all gone."

"Good." Kinch studied his friends. "You knew," Kinch murmured. "About Newkirk." LeBeau nodded and Carter stared at his cards. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"We thought you'd be upset," Carter said.

"Why would you think that?"

LeBeau eyed him. "Newkirk only told us yesterday," he hesitantly said. "It is not an easy subject."

"He didn't have to be so secretive." Kinch poured a cup of coffee. LeBeau and Carter looked puzzled.

"Most people would not take it well," LeBeau said.

"It's odd, yes, but hardly that big a deal."

Carter grinned. "I'm glad you see it that way, buddy." He playfully punched Kinch's arm as the radioman sat beside him. "LeBeau and I were worried you might react badly."

"Gee, thanks, Andrew." Kinch gave Carter a gentle shove. Inwardly, a mixture of hurt and annoyance began rising. Why would _he _react badly? Newkirk's lonely graveyard treks showed _Newkirk _was the one reacting badly, not him.

LeBeau smiled as well. "I still think we should keep this private," he said. "The rest of the camp, they may not see it like us."

"That's cold, LeBeau," Kinch said. "Everyone misses Colonel Hogan. They'd understand."

Carter's eyebrows drew close in confusion. "You think?" he asked. "Heck, I didn't get it. Not until LeBeau explained it and I saw Newkirk crying. Even now, I'm confused."

A slow wave of bafflement washed through Kinch. "He's missing the Colonel, what's so confusing?"

LeBeau's eyes widened in what seemed like horror. "I think we are not...."

Carter overrode him with a cheery "I'm glad you know, Kinch. I still can't see Colonel Hogan and Newkirk as together but LeBeau said his cousin was like that and..."

Kinch slowly set down his coffee. Fog blanketed his mind as he croaked out "Together? Carter what are you _talking _about?"

Carter's smile immediately vanished. LeBeau hunched his shoulders and Carter looked around helplessly, anywhere but Kinch. "You said you knew," Carter stammered.

"I know Newkirk's been going to Colonel Hogan's grave at night. What are you talking about? What together do you mean?"

"Ah.."

Kinch felt sweat trickle down his back as LeBeau and Carter each looked at the floor. "No," he firmly said, denying what they were inadvertently saying. "No. Colonel Hogan was not like that!"

"Mon ami," LeBeau said softly. "It does not change either Newkirk or mon Colonel."

"Colonel Hogan did not fool around with men!"

"Newkirk said," Carter started.

"Newkirk is obviously delusional. He's gone crazy!" Kinch slammed his tin mug on the table. "Colonel Hogan wasn't that way!"

Lebeau gazed at him calmly. "It makes sense," he suggested. "Newkirk and Colonel Hogan were much alike. Social, friendly, yet very private about their personal lives. Why could they not share l'amour?"

"Because Colonel Hogan liked women!" Carter fiddled with his cards while LeBeau sipped coffee. "You can't think that it's true?"

"Newkirk said he loved him," Carter muttered.

"Look, women aren't common here," Kinch said desperately. "I understand men getting together--I mean, sex happens. But not the Colonel, not with Newkirk, and certainly not love! And that's it! And don't either of you two dare repeat this!"

LeBeau gazed at him, nodded coolly. Carter finally looked him in the eyes, a sad look on his face. "Gotcha," the lanky sergeant said. "Come on, LeBeau, we can check on laundry detail."

"All right." LeBeau stood, glanced at Kinch again. "Be as angry as you want, James," he said softly. "It changes nothing."

_You're wrong, Louis. It changes everything._


	5. Chapter 5

Kinch sleepwalked through the most of the day, checking out the radio and wiring as if on remote control. Everywhere he turned, he felt his world tilt a little more. _It isn't true. It can't be. Colonel Hogan was a man's man, an ace pilot, a spy. He could seduce any woman and there is no way he'd be with Newkirk. But why would Newkirk lie? Could they have had sex and Newkirk mistook it for more? But Newkirk loves women. Berlin Betty, Gretel--how does he explain that? _A sharp wire poked his hand and he swore softly. He shook himself and started working again. "Kinch?" a voice interrupted him.

Kinch looked up into Mills' face. "Yeah?"

"Evening roll call in five. You showing up?" Mills grinned hesitantly.

Kinch smiled back. "I'm coming. Thanks."

"No problem."

Kinch avoided the questioning glance from Carter and the neutral look from LeBeau. The chill night air bore the scent of more snow on its way and he muttered under his breath, hunching his shoulders. Thankfully, Klink simply dismissed the prisoners and hurried back inside. In the barracks, LeBeau handed Kinch a mug of hot chocolate. "Thanks."

"You are welcome, Kinch." LeBeau smiled slightly. His gaze flicked to Major Cole. The broad shouldered man chatted to Olson, his sandy blond hair flopping over his forehead. As if sensing LeBeau's gaze, Major Cole looked over. "Sergeant Kinchloe, is Newkirk the best lockpick we have?"

"Yes, sir."

"Damn. I need someone to pick a lock on a briefcase. A scientist guarded by the Gestapo is stopping by next week with Burkhalter in tow as well. Supposed to have some blueprints."

"Major Cole, Newkirk really isn't ready," Carter blurted. All eyes turned to him. "Sir." Kinch clenched his mug tightly.

"Should I tell the war to stop for him?" Cole snapped.

Carter shifted nervously, his hands in his pockets. "He's not--I mean, Colonel Hogan just died," he said. "He really, um, needs time."

Major Cole's face and stance softened slightly. "Colonel Hogan's been gone five weeks, Carter. Everyone else has moved on. And from what little I've seen of Corporal Newkirk, grief is not his problem." Carter flinched and stared at the floor. Kinch grabbed LeBeau's shoulder and squeezed. "I'll talk to Newkirk," Cole added. He headed for the tunnels. Mills glanced at Carter.

"Hate to admit, he's right. Newkirk's fine, Carter."

Carter shook his head. "He's not. And Gestapo? What if it's Hochstetter?"

Kinch felt LeBeau stiffen under his hand. "Pierre will kill him." LeBeau spoke with certainity.

Olson frowned. "Newkirk's got a cooler head than that."

Kinch released LeBeau's shoulder. "Carter, he'll be fine."

"Kinch..."

"He'll be fine," Kinch repeated. He felt his face harden. _I am not going through this again. Newkirk will get over this delusion and grieve normally and it'll work out just fine. _He ran his fingers through his hair, feeling old. "Look, Carter, he's hardly going to snap." _Although, I think he already has._

"Newkirk is fine," Parks said. "You guys worry too much."

Carter silently traced circles on the table. LeBeau sat across from him. When Cole returned, his jaw was set and his brow tight. He stalked to his room and shut the door. "Told you Newkirk was fine," Parks said. "No one else can piss off the Major like him." He shuffled some cards.

Kinch sighed. "I'm going to the radio."

"I'll take Newkirk some supper," LeBeau said.

"Let me," Kinch said. "I need to talk to him."

"But..."

"Me, LeBeau."

As he slipped through the tunnels to the cooler, Kinch didn't know what he was going to say to Newkirk. When he arrived at the block, he listened then carefully entered the cell. Newkirk was pacing back and forth. "Getting to be a routine, Kinch, ol' man," Newkirk said cheerily. He took the soup, sat on the bunk, and poked at the soup half heartedly. It smelled delicious. "How are things?"

"Just eat, Newkirk. Major Cole came to see you?"

Newkirk gave a small, twisted smile. "He did. Wants me to open some ruddy briefcase."

"Carter told him you weren't ready."

"Major Cole doesn't care if I'm ready. I'm here to work, as he so nicely put it. Anyway, it's all right. I can do it." Newkirk said.

"Good." Kinch rubbed his hands together. The silence seemed awkward, deafening and he tried to fill it. "Cold in here."

"You should wear gloves."

"Tore them."

"Bring them to me. I can fix them."

"No need."

"I'm not really busy here, mate." Newkirk sipped the soup. He lifted an eyebrow and Kinch shrugged.

"Don't worry about it."

Newkirk gazed at him harder. Kinch stared back, feeling his stomach twist. "So Carter and LeBeau talked to you." Newkirk set down the tray.

"About what?'

Newkirk snorted. "Don't play cute, Kinch. Your ruddy 'don't touch me, don't look at me' act screams that LeBeau and Carter talked."

Kinch frowned. "They talked," he admitted. "Not like you think because I don't want the details."

"That's fair."

Kinch was silent for a moment. "I don't know what happened," he said. "I don't _want _to know. I understand needs and physical release, I just don't want to know."

Newkirk blinked at him. "Ah, Kinch..."

"Let me finish. I know you miss him. We all do. Granted, you had some closer moments with the Colonel than the rest of us but we're all still petty upset. It's over, it's done with, and we all need to just move on."

"What did Carter and LeBeau tell you?"

"That you and Colonel Hogan got together a few times." Kinch felt the blood rushing through his face. "That you were upset when he died."

"Did they mention the little fact that I bloomin' loved him?"

Kinch inhaled, staring into Newkirk's eyes. "They did. I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

"I'll get the tray later."

"Take it now."

"Finish it, Newkirk. Starving yourself won't help anyone."

"I'm not starving. I'm not hungry."

"Eat anyway."

"Just leave it then."

"All right." Kinch turned to leave. "He didn't love you, you know that , right?" He glanced quickly over his shoulder.

The pain and shock in Newkirk's face lasted only a heartbeat before he smiled crookedly, eyes icing over. "What are you nattering on about?"

Kinch turned fully back to Newkirk, straightening to his full height. "He didn't love you," he repeatedly quietly. "He didn't mess around with men, Newkirk. He loved women. You and he may have gotten close but he didn't love you that way. He couldn't. "

"You seem to know a lot about what he was."

"I just knew the Colonel. He couldn't fall in love with a man."

Newkirk gave a quick nod. "Fine. You said your piece. Get to the barracks before Schmidt comes back."

"I'm just telling you the truth."

Newkirk'e eyes glittered like shorn steel. "I know what you're telling me. Now get going because Schmidt will be here any second now."

"All right. I am sorry, though."

"Bleedin' 'Ell, Kinch, get out!" Newkirk's voice dropped to a hiss as footsteps echoed. Kinch fled hurriedly.


	6. Chapter 6

LeBeau watched Kinch return to the radio. Carter stood silently beside him. "It did not go well," LeBeau said.

Kinch glanced at him. "What? It wasn't bad, Louis. I just hope Newkirk comes back to his senses soon."

"In what way?"

Kinch sighed. "Look, LeBeau, I don't have the connection you do. No one I know is like Newkirk. It's simply--wrong. Morally. Ethically."

"Why?'

Kinch stared as if he had grown a second head. "Two men, together."

"Why is it wrong?' LeBeau cocked his head. "Kinch, if you can not answer that..."

Kinch frowned. "Ah, biblically..."

"Pierre does not believe in God."

Kinch stared again. "What?'

LeBeau shrugged. "I do not so much either. Face it, mon amis, it is not your country being attacked and bombed. I lost faith in any God when the Boche brought their tanks into Paris. And I do not think Pierre ever believed."

"Really?' Carter finally spoke up. "But of course there's a God."

"So you say. I do not see any."

Kinch blinked and Carter simply looked baffled, both slack jawed. "The things you learn," Kinch muttered. He put on his headset. "Any messages?"

"Just one to stand by." LeBeau poured a cup of coffee. "Did you and Newkirk fight badly?'

"No. I just said my piece and left."

Carter winced. "Ouch."

"No matter what, he needs to move on," Kinch said.

"How?" Carter asked.

"I don't know," Kinch admitted.

"I am going to check outside," LeBeau murmured. "To make sure he isn't there."

"Just be careful," Kinch said. "Avoid Cole."

"Oui." LeBeau hurried upstair and slipped outside. Indeed, Newkirk stood by Hogan's grave, silently brushing snow from the cross. LeBeau watched for a moment as Newkirk stood. Newkirk didn't cry, didn't talk. He just stood there in the cold, wind tugging his clothes and hair. LeBeau sank back into the shadows as Mueller, on night duty, stopped. "Corporal Newkirk, you need to stop this. Who let you out this time?"

"Schultz. Am I hurting anyone?" Newkirk didn't turn around.

"Just yourself. He is gone. You have mourned far longer than I would for Kommandant Klink."

"Colonel Hogan wasn't Klink."

The German corporal walked to Newkirk, handing him a scarf. Then he left as Newkirk wrapped his head and neck. Newkirk returned to staring at the grave. LeBeau shivered. After waiting for what seemed like hours, LeBeau approached. Newkirk looked at LeBeau as he neared but said nothing. LeBeau touched Newkirk's arm awkwardly. "We need to go inside," he breathed.

"Go away, LeBeau."

"Newkirk, please. This does not help."

"You don't understand anything, mate. Let me alone." Newkirk moodily touched the cross again, flicked snow away. "I need to make a better monument. This is all right for temporary use but he deserved better."

"After the war, he will be sent home."

"His body will. He's gone, LeBeau."

"Come inside," LeBeau coaxed. "You will freeze."

Newkirk shook his head. "Let me go."

"Pierre, please," LeBeau pleaded. Newkirk looked at him, ran his fingers over the cross. "What if the Germans see you? Other than Mueller, I mean."

"Ol' Schultzie is guarding me tonight, LeBeau. He's snoozing by my cell as we speak."

"How can we help you?"

"Bring him back." Newkirk's voice faded into the falling snow.

"What?"

"Nothing, LeBeau. There's nothing anyone can do."

LeBeau firmly grabbed Newkirk's arm and pulled him to the barracks. No one batted an eye as Newkirk entered, well used to cooler inmates freely leaving their cell, especially after dark. Major Cole frowned. "Just picking up a blanket," Newkirk said. "Bleeding cold." He grabbed a blanket and followed LeBeau in to the tunnels. "Isn't he a ruddy charmer?" Newkirk muttered.

"Officers," LeBeau explained.

Carter grinned as they came in. "Hey," he greeted. "We have a guest coming. A Group Captain from London."

"Carter, take that to Major Cole," Kinch said. "Bored again, Newkirk?"

"Mending clothes," Newkirk replied. The air seemed to chill slightly as Kinch and Newkirk eyed each other.

"Why is London coming?' LeBeau demanded, hoping to break the tension. Newkirk and Kinch both looked at him and Kinch shrugged.

"They say to observe."

"When?" LeBeau demanded.

"Next week. Carter, go," Kinch said.

"Someone who can actually understand you." Carter teasingly nudged Newkirk. Newkirk looked at him quickly, with a twisted smile.

"Not much chance of that, mate. Not anymore." He left quickly.

They watched him leave. Kinch looked weary yet Carter looked agonzied and LeBeau clasped his shoulder, thinking of a friend standing in the cold staring at a crudely made cross.

Carter laid awake for hours that night, listening to the snores and breathing all around him. Finally he slipped off into the tunnels, nodding to Kinch who manned the radio. Carter quickly headed for the cooler, crawling quickly into the cell.

"Blimey, Carter, why are you still awake?"

"How did it happen?" Carter stood up, dusting off his clothes. Newkirk sighed and sat up.

"Define it, mate."

"You and the Colonel." Newkirk looked baffled. "I've talked to people. I mean, you and Colonel Hogan aren't anything like what they say. I'm trying to understand."

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "It was, Carter. That's all I can say."

"So give me a hint. I'm not stupid, Newkirk!"

Newkirk blew through his nose in frustration. "The first night he and I got together, it was cold and wet, raining down in sheets. We'd just blown a bridge."

"That night you two were so late?"

Newkirk nodded. "When the Krauts started shooting, we split into two groups so the gov and I could play fox."

"The Colonel wanted to do it alone," Carter reminded.

"Do you want to hear this or not?"

"Go ahead."

"Anyway, I ended up with the gov. Don't know why the Krauts were shooting. No one could see. Hogan and I ran through the rain until the gov ran into a tree limb. He was rattled, almost bleedin' unconcious. I half carried him to a cave, him blathering on about leaving him. We were soaked and he was shaking like a leaf. So I laid him down, stripped off his clothes. He felt like ice. I began rubbing him as dry as I could. I didn't have any dry clothes or towels but my shirt was pretty dry due to my overcoat. So I used that. Anyway, things went on from there and that's how it started."

"Started?"

"I thought about him for a long while before that night. I--took a chance." Newkirk smiled slightly. "It worked." He shrugged suddenly. "Doesn't matter."

"I found your box."

Newkirk jerked his head sharply. "What?"

"The wooden box. I found it. I wanted a book."

"Did you look in it?" Anger underlaid every word.

Carter squirmed. "Not really. I mean, I just opened the lid and saw the sketch."

Newkirk trembled visibly. "I made it for him. The box, I mean. Everything inside was Rob's."

"Rob?!"

Newkirk sighed in exasperation. "I told you we were lovers, Andrew. Think I didn't get some privileges? Yes, when we were together, I could call him Rob. Didn't happen much." Newkirk stood, paced slightly. "Almost everything in that box were things I gave him. He always said I could have it." Carter shook his head bemusedly. "Still bugs you?"

"It's just all so weird and new. I mean, boxes and pictures and his first name. I feel like I barely know you. And you're one of my best friends!"

"You, LeBeau and Kinch know me better than anyone," Newkirk said. "You knew me pretty well before. I just kept a few things to myself."

"Like Colonel Hogan."

Newkirk cocked his head. "I shared him with everyone." Carter shrugged and then yawned. "Get some sleep, Carter."

"Newkirk, I'm really sorry," Carter said awkwardly.

Newkirk looked at him with the same fractured expression that had chilled Carter's insides before. "So am I," Newkirk whispered. He laid down on the bunk, back to Carter. Carter looked at his feet, then back at Newkirk, comprehension filling him. Carter frowned. Working at the pharamacy, he knew people pretty well, he thought. He knew what was expected when people passed away--visitations, funerals, constant checking on the remaining family. But this wasn't his specialty. "Peter," he said, realizing he was using Newkirk's first name more than he ever had before.

"What?"

"I want to help."

"Wish you could." A pause. "I'm fine, Andrew."

"I know you really loved him."

Newkirk shrugged, not looking at him. "And see 'ow bleeding well that turned out."

To that, Carter could say nothing.


	7. Chapter 7

The next few days, Carter tried to figure out what to do. Kinch was sure Newkirk would be fine if everything was ignored, LeBeau thought sweet pastries and liquor, and Carter simply thought talking to Newkirk would be the best. Newkirk didn't seem on board with any of these plans, however. In the cooler, he mended clothes when no guards watched and read. Major Cole checked on him once or twice and always seemed annoyed when he left while Newkirk seemed chipper. He didn't go to Hogan's grave anymore or, if he did, he was unseen.

The next week Newkirk was released from the cooler. Carter's chest tightened when he spied the now familiar mocking smile. Newkirk greeted Major Cole civilly but the smile remained the same. LeBeau embraced him warmly, pushed food on him as if Newkirk had been lost for months instead of just across the camp. Newkirk settled in a chair, gaze on Cole. "The scientist is coming tomorrow. Think you'll be ready?"

"Always ready."

"Think you can deal with Hochstetter if needed?"

Newkirk's smile sent splinters of ice throughout Carter's chest. "I can deal with Hochstetter."

"All right then."

Kinch started. "Ah, sir, Major Hochstetter, is it wise for any of us to deal with him?"

"Major Hochstetter only knows Colonel Hogan was shot as an escaping prisoner. I know you men can handle dealing with him. We'll get revenge when the war's over."

Newkirk hid his smile behind his mug.

Carter worriedly tugged at his jacket. When the group broke up, he pulled Kinch aside. "Newkirk will kill Hochstetter," he whispered.

"We all want to kill Hochstetter." Kinch looked over to Newkirk, now dealing cards.

"He will. Kinch, he'll kill him!"

Kinch studied him. "You're pretty sure."

"I just know. He wants to avenge Colonel Hogan."

Kinch nodded. "I'll talk to him." Carter bit his lower lip. "Carter, relax. I can handle this."

LeBeau and Newkirk were playing cards with Olson and Parks. Kinch and Carter watched for awhile. "Newkirk, can you give me a hand?" Kinch asked.

"Depends on what it is."

Kinch's hand fell on Newkirk's shoulder. "Come on, Newkirk."

They walked off. LeBeau looked at Carter. "What is it?"

"I think Newkirk will try to kill Major Hochstetter."

"Tell him good luck, " Parks said.

"It's not funny. Major Hochstetter is a jerk but if Newkirk kills him, then he'll be killed."

LeBeau looked concerned. "Carter is correct. Newkirk can not kill Hochstetter outright."

"Newkirk won't kill him outright." Olson studied his hand. "He'd shoot him in the dark."

In the bitter air, Newkirk and Kinch walked together, a careful distance apart. Kinch gave Newkirk a sidelong glance. Freshly showered and deloused--as all the prisoners had been in anticipation of Burkhalter and Hochstetter--the Englishman appeared paler than normal, gaunter in the face. "Carter's worried you'll kill Hochstetter."

"Is this what you needed to do? Ol' Andrew doesn't need to worry." Newkirk kicked the snow.

Kinch gave a relieved sigh. "Good. That'll make him feel better."

Newkirk glanced at him with a funny smile. "No one needs to be concerned."

"Any number of us would kill him if we could."

"Only takes one."

Anxiety rushed back through Kinch. "Newkirk, what are you planning? You just said Carter didn't need to worry!"

"He doesn't. I _will_ kill Hochstetter, Kinch. If not now, a little later. But the mission comes first."

Kinch stopped, pulled Newkirk around to face him. "Damn it, Newkirk, you can't! If Cole finds out you plan to murder Hochstetter, he will hit the roof!"

"Why? Because I'm doing the job 'e should? And it's hardly murder."

"Hochstetter isn't important. He didn't even kill Colonel Hogan."

"He boasted about Colonel Hogan's death as if he did! That makes it more than important!"

"I understand that. But what if someone worse comes along? After the war, Hochstetter can hang."

"No. Not waiting that long, mate. You don't have to help. In fact, you shouldn't."

Kinch glared at his friend. "You aren't some designated executioner, Newkirk. If the rest of us can deal with this, you can." Newkirk just stared at him with a twisted smile. Kinch felt a wave of rage wash over him. "You can not simply kill whatever Kraut ticks you off."

"Why not? We're at war, remember?"

"You're insane!"

"Maybe." Newkirk shrugged. "Stop worrying."

"I understand you're upset but, hell, Newkirk, we have missions to do. Slaughtering Nazi officers for vengeance isn't part of that."

"And why not? I'm not going to kill them willy nilly. Just as they crop up."

"And you think Major Cole would go along with this?'

Newkirk snorted. "He won't even know."

Kinch inhaled, pulling out his ace. "The Colonel wouldn't want this." Newkirk glared at him, lips thinning.

"That's low, Kinch, even for you."

"Me?"

"He didn't ruddy care for me--you said so yourself--why would he care about this?"

"I didn't say he didn't care. I said he wasn't in love with you." Kinch's voice dropped to a rumble.

"Whatever. He isn't here, I can still do my job, and I'll do a little extra on the side. I won't even charge London for them."

"And German officers vanishing won't draw attention?"

"I can do this, Kinch."

"Just how can you do this?"

"That's my secret, mate." He strolled off, hands in his pocket.

Kinch exhaled, feeling sweat trickle down his back. He headed for the barracks. The thin, acrid smell of burning wood drifted across the compound and he knew barrack stoves had been stoked with fresh wood. As he neared Barracks 2, he spotted Carter emptying a bucket of ash. "Hey," Carter said.

"Carter, did Newkirk say anything?"

"About what?"

"Killing Hochstetter."

"He didn't need to. I figured it."

Kinch rubbed his hands together. "Damn."

"Is he going to?"

"He's certainly going to try."

Carter exhaled loudly. "I'll talk to him."

"He's a grown man. He'll make his own choices."

"Newkirk needs someone to lean on."

"We're all hurting, Carter."

Carter bit his lip and looked away. Kinch clasped his shoulder and Carter smiled weakly. They both went into the barracks. Newkirk came in a few hours later, chatting with Mills. Carter waited and finally took Newkirk outside. When they returned, both looked frustrated. The rest of the evening they spent in quiet chit chat. Newkirk shuffled cards occasionally but he seemed distracted. When Major Cole came in, he slipped aside, barely acknowledging the senior POW. Kinch shook his head. Newkirk couldn't show his contempt outright but the signs were easy to read for someone who knew Newkirk. _Then again, had Major Cole left me in the cooler, I guess I'd be upset too._

Joseph Wilson had watched over the command crew forever, it seemed. When Kinch approached him, looking somewhat upset, his stomach twisted. "Can I talk to you?" Kinch asked.

"Sure. Problems?"

"I'd like it if you could talk to Newkirk. He's been acting--odd."

Wilson's stomach unknotted. "Newkirk? Sure. Odd how?"

"Not himself."

Wilson frowned. "Seems fine to me."

"When's the last time you spoke to him?"

"This morning. He went to play poker with the guards. Payday, you know."

Kinch's eyes widened. "Poker?"

"Sure. Kinch, are you all right?"

"Yeah, Joe, I'm fine. It's just I thought Newkirk wasn't acting like himself."

Wilson shook his head. "I worry about you and LeBeau more than Newkirk. He's bounced back better than anyone. He's not fond of Major Cole but that's not unexpected."

Kinch nodded. "OK. Never mind then."

"I'll talk to him, anyway."

"Sure, thanks." Kinch left.

When LeBeau and Carter both asked Wilson similar questions, Wilson decided to act. After Colonel Hogan's death, he'd practically lived with the command crew, fretting over them continually. Yet, as he told Kinch, Newkirk was not one he worried about. After one nasty tirade of rage and screaming, Newkirk had stabilized. Wilson hunted Newkirk down at his poker game and briefly watched. Newkirk grinned at him and continued chatting to Miller. After fleecing the guards, Newkirk joined Wilson, reeking of smoke and schnapps. "You need me, mate?'

"Just stopping by. Weekly check in you know."

Newkirk snorted. "Couldn't have checked on me in the cooler? Nah, never mind. I'm fine, especially now."

"You better hope Klink doesn't catch you carousing with the guards."

"I was invited. Besides, I didn't take _all _their money."

"All right." Wilson strolled beside Newkirk. "Here the Major has some new operation planned." Newkirk shrugged.

"Supposed to. Have to see what Burkhalter and Hochstetter bring."

"Tonight?"

"Supposed to be."

"Can you do it?"

"Watch me, mate."

The evening brought both Hochstetter and Burkhalter along with the scientist. Wilson returned to his barracks reluctantly, wishing again he was in Barracks Two. Yet no shooting, no calls for his services and the next day, everyone was whole and hardy. Wilson sagged with relief. He was right, Newkirk and all the command crew were fine.


	8. Chapter 8

Major Alan Cole wasn't so sure. True. the mission went off with a hitch. Corporal Newkirk did his part of the mission easily, opening the briefcase and getting the contents to Carter to photograph. "Finally coming together," Major Cole murmured in the barracks when the men reported to him. Kinch shot him a quick glance. Newkirk hunched his shoulders. LeBeau rolled his eyes, stirred a pot of chocolate. Carter smiled nervously. "Good job," Cole added. He didn't understand the wary looks he kept getting. Granted, these men had been fond of Colonel Hogan but it had been six weeks. He looked at Kinch, relieved at how steady the radioman always was. "Contact London. Tell them we have the film. Then contact the Underground. Tell them we'll deliver it tomorrow night."

"Yes, sir."

"Tomorrow night our guest arrives. We also have the film to deliver. Newkirk, LeBeau, you two deliver the film to the Underground. Carter and I will bring in the Group Captain"

"Oui," LeBeau muttered. Newkirk nodded. Major Cole didn't miss how both men had composed, expressionless faces. Cole frowned. While he truly admired Colonel Hogan's work before he came here, right now he was awed. These two Europeans were beyond his ken. LeBeau was too passionate and monofocused while Newkirk too cynical and brash. And their moods changed in an instant. _How did Colonel Hogan ever make this disparate team work?_ _God I wish they were American. Maybe I could understand them then._

Newkirk lit a cigarette. "Yes, Major," he coolly said.

Carter looked earnestly at Major Cole, as if pleading for something. Major Cole mentally sighed. _Now what? He's like a puppy dog, this one. How did he make it through basic training? But he's good hearted and at least he tries. More than some._

"Questions, Sergeant?"

"Shouldn't we all go?"

"Newkirk and LeBeau can handle themselves," Cole said.

Newkirk nodded. "We'll be fine," he said.

Cole didn't like his gaze. Corporal Newkirk always had a touch of attitude, a cockiness that Cole detested. He'd met a few young officers, pilots mostly, who had similiar boldness and mouthiness but most didn't have Newkirk's cynicism. He could feel the men watching him, as if waiting for more, and he sighed mentally. _What do they want from me? _"Let me know what London says, Kinch."

"Yes, sir."

"The rest of you, just keep your ears and eyes open."

They left his quarters.

"See, he's not so bad," Carter said softly. Newkirk snorted and hopped up onto his bunk, pulling a thick book from his pocket.

"What's that?" LeBeau asked, sitting at the barracks table where Mills, Olson, and Parks played gin. Kinch paused by the bunk.

"Book," Newkirk said.

"I know that. What book?"

"_Mein Kampf,"_ Newkirk said. "Bleedin' stupid but I'm trying to understand these Krauts."

Kinch nodded, slapped the bunk side. As it lifted, LeBeau handed Newkirk some hot chocolate. "You are wasting your time," he said. "Who wants to understand the Boche?"

"Always know your enemy, mate," Newkirk said. "That's what Colonel Hogan said. And thanks." He sipped the chocolate slowly.

"Still miss him," Mills sighed. Kinch was looking directly at Newkirk and saw the almost imperceptible quiver that ran through the Englishman. Carter handed up a cookie.

"Thanks, Carter."

"Tell me if the book is any good."

Newkirk laughed slightly. He leaned against the wall and began reading. Kinch headed downstairs.

Major Cole emerged around a hour later, poured some coffee. Kinch, now at the table, gave him London's message. "Underground rendezvous is all set," he said. "As is the pickup point for our guest. Baker is at the radio right now, just in case."

"Good job." Major Cole glanced around, stopped at Newkirk. "Newkirk, what are you reading?"

Newkirk didn't look up. "_Mein Kampf,"_ he replied.

Cole blinked. "You read German that well?"

Newkirk shrugged. "Carter, LeBeau, Kinch and I all can."

"I know you can read basic German," Cole said slowly.

"That's all this is," Newkirk said, finally looking up.

Cole nodded thoughtfully. Newkirk flipped a page, returned to his book. Cole went back to his quarters. Mills glanced at Newkirk. "Was that wise, Newkirk?" he asked quietly.

"What?"

"Telling him you could read German."

"He already knew that."

"Not that you can really read it."

"Like I said, Carter, Kinch, LeBeau and I can all read German. We weren't taking those bleedin' lessons for nothing." Newkirk turned another page.

"Colonel Hogan was an excellent teacher," LeBeau said, dealing cards.

Kinch nodded.

"He sure was," Carter chimed in.

Newkirk said nothing, just kept reading. Yet Kinch saw Newkirk tremble again and when Newkirk looked up briefly, he swore he saw tears sparkling on his lashes. Newkirk finally slid off his bunk, headed into the tunnels. Carter followed Newkirk a few minutes later. Kinch and LeBeau exchanged looks and both soon walked down the tunnels as well.

Newkirk stitched uniforms while Carter chatted and watched. Newkirk answered amiably enough although Kinch saw Newkirk's hands quiver now and then. Kinch watched Newkirk silently, trying to imagine anything, anytime where Colonel Hogan had treated the Englishman with anything more or different than brotherly love. _I must be seeing things. Newkirk wouldn't cry. All we've done here, all we've seen and I have never seen him cry. He cares, yes, is protective as hell, but Newkirk doesn't cry. _

_"I'm glad you're with me tonight, Kinch. You at least obey orders. Most of the time."_

_"Thanks, Colonel." He'd grinned at his CO, glad to be out doing things instead of by the radio. "Are you saying I'm the good one in the family?"_

_Hogan had laughed, clasped his shoulder. "You're the listener." _

_"And Carter is the talker, LeBeau is the stubborn one, and Newkirk is the wild one."_

_Hogan had chuckled again, face softening. "Newkirk is the disobedient one." He'd smiled oddly. "That's why I'm glad it's you with me. Just in case."_

_"Just in case what?"_

_"Never mind, Kinch. Let's get moving."_

_Disobedient one. _

_Would he have defied the Colonel? Stayed despite orders? Newkirk didn't usually disobey directly--he 'misunderstood' and he's quick minded enough to turn orders about. What was that 'just in case'? Could Colonel Hogan have actually known he'd most likely die? Granted, they ALL knew they could die but have Colonel Hogan had a feeling he would die that night? And was he glad to have Kinch because Kinch listened or also because he knew Newkirk wouldn't have obeyed, wouldn't have left his lover behind? And if that was the case, could Colonel Hogan actually loved--no. No. It couldn't be. Colonel Hogan was a brother, a leader, a friend--if he had loved Newkirk, why didn't he tell anyone? No. Just no. The world simply could not be so absolutely different, so fundamentally weird. Newkirk's a great guy but he's hotheaded, loudmouthed with a lazy streak. Colonel Hogan was firm, strict, good hearted but still an officer, when all was said and done. We all spent our lives day in and day out with the Colonel and Newkirk. We would have seen--I would have seen--if the Colonel was in love. Wouldn't I? _


	9. Chapter 9

Carter hunched beside Major Cole, scanning the brush and trees. Snow spun around them in lazy dances, lifted by the wind constantly blowing. Major Cole peered through the binoculars then pointed. A slender figure walked their way, clad in a black overcoat. Major Cole stepped forward and Carter gripped his pistol tightly. As the figure solidified into a man, he spoke in perfect German. "Die Sterne sind hell heute." ("The stars are bright tonight.")

"Aber der Wind kalt." ("But the winds are cold.")

"Good evening, Major Cole." The man's gaze shifted to Carter. "Sergeant Carter?" Carter nodded. "Group Captain Wellston."

"This way." Major Cole gestured.

They walked quickly back to camp. In the warmer tunnels, the newcomer took off his coat and shook his head. "Bit brisk tonight. Let's try this again. I'm Group Captain Wellston."

"Major Cole and yes, this is Sergeant Carter."

Wellston clasped Major Cole's hand and then Carter's, a smile lighting his plain face. "A true pleasure."

"How did you know?" Carter asked. "That it was me, sir?"

"I had descriptions of all of you." Wellston said, shoving his damp hair back. Bright brown eyes scanned the tunnel and Major Cole and Carter. Carter resisted the urge to squirm. Those were the keenest brown eyes he'd ever seen. In all other ways Wellston seemed average. Brown hair, pleasant, ordinary features. "Where are the other men?"

"Sergeant Kinchloe is in the radar room. Corporals Newkirk and LeBeau are out delivering a package."

"Good. It's a honor to finally meet you, Sergeant Carter."

"Gee, thanks, sir. Would you like some coffee?"

"That would be wonderful, thank you. The Major will show me the tunnels."

"Yes, sir."

Major Cole mentally sighed. _Now what?_

"How are they?"

Major Cole blinked at Wellston's question. "The men?"

"Yes. Carter, Newkirk, LeBeau and Kinchloe."

"They're fine."

Wellston nodded. "Walk with me, Major." The two walked towards the cooler. "Major, my mission was to come here to discuss private matters but mainly to review the men. Frankly, your request to add different men to the team is startling."

"I think it could expand the use of the team."

"I noted your requests were all Americans." The Englishman's eyes gleamed.

Major Cole nodded. "They're good men, trustworthy. Solid."

"And your current command crew?"

"They'll still be used, of course. Kinch is a good radio man and Carter a decent explosives man. Newkirk and LeBeau have skills as well."

"So why do you need more?"

Cole had expected this. "Thompson is a sharpshooter and Rolston has special arms training."

"And? Do either speak or read German?"

"Rolston has some basic German training."

Wellston nodded. "I see. I'll meet with your requested men. And Hogan's men, too, of course."

"They're doing well," Cole said. "Is London displeased?"

"They're curious. Major, after the death of Colonel Hogan, we all debated on whether this unit should continue. I doubted anyone could duplicate Colonel Hogan's success. You've done good things."

"Colonel Hogan's work is impressive," Cole agreed. "He was not indispensable."

"Colonel Hogan would have agreed. Robert always undervalued himself." Wellston smiled. "We were friends, flew together now and then." His gaze raked Cole. The Major understood he was being measured.

"I'm sorry."

"Thank you."

"This way."

Kinch was used to strangers appearing in the tunnels. When Major Cole appeared with another man, he merely smiled.

"Sergeant Kinchloe, this is Group Captain Wellston."

"Hello, Sergeant. It's an honor." The stranger clasped Kinch's hand warmly with none of the reluctance to which Kinch was accustomed.

"Group Captain, sir." They shook. Carter appeared as if by magic and handed a mug to Wellston.

"Thank you, Sergeant."

"I would have made tea, sir, but we're out at the moment."

"Quite all right." He sipped slowly. A little while later, a pair of wet, muddied figures joined them, the smaller one handing Major Cole a wrapped package.

"From the Underground, Major. La Tigre says it contains the radio parts we requested."

"Thank you, Corporal. Corporals LeBeau, Newkirk, this is Group Captain Wellston."

"A pleasure, gentleman." Wellston reached out and shook the mens' hands. Both men gave him polite greetings yet he could see the curiosity mixed with wariness. "You're a bit damp."

"It's soggy," Newkirk said. LeBeau rolled his eyes.

"Oui. Soggy is a word. How about soaking?"

Cole jerked his head. "Go dry off and clean up."

Wellston frowned slightly as the two men left. Carter watched the Group Captain, clearly dying to ask questions but knowing he shouldn't. Wellston finished his coffee and smiled slightly. _"You'd like Carter, Nigel. He's eager, curious as a cat. One of the best hearted men I've ever met. And Kinch? My right hand. Holds the place together and has a terrific sense of humor. LeBeau can make sawdust taste like steak and is quick and fast."_

_"And Newkirk?"_

_Hogan had laughed, face lighting. "The quintessential rebel. Clever and as sharp as they come. They're the best men anyone could ask for. They'd follow me to Hell if I asked."_

_"And? So what's the problem?"_

_"The problem is, they'd follow me into Hell." And Hogan had sighed, shaking his head. "I've asked things from them no person should ever ask from their men."_

_"Robert, they're volunteers. And obviously they want to follow you."_

_Hogan had frowned. "Someday, Nigel, they're going to want payback. Heaven help me when they do."_

He'd volunteered for this mission, to fulfill a promise to an old friend. He actually was amazed at so much concern from higher ups. Robert Hogan's men obviously were on peoples' minds. Group Captain Roberts had even looked him up, demanded in his own quiet way that he make sure Hogan's men were being treated decently. From a simple missions to one far more than anyone suspected. Wellston knew he was an acute man, well rehearsed in the quirks and oddities of behavior. It had molded him into the superb infiltrator and agent he was yet his dedication also set him apart. He'd promised Robert Hogan if anything happened to him, that he'd care for his command crew and Wellston didn't break promises. So now he was here.

After several days observing like a ghost, flitting from tunnels to barracks, he decided to step it up a bit more. In many ways he was troubled. He wasn't overly impressed with Major Cole. The man was trying, true, but Wellston knew Cole lacked the lively imagination Hogan had possessed, and also Hogan's wacky humor. Cole was a steady man, cared for the men of Stalag 13, but he didn't seem to know all the nuances of leadership of such a diverse crew. For example, he definitely seemed to prefer being with the Americans in the camp. Wellston also didn't like how quiet and wary the command crew seemed around their leader. None of Hogan's men had ever been described as shy. Yet, the four he was seeing were often silent. One by one, he cornered the men, talked to them about their new leader and revealed how highly they were thought of both by Colonel Hogan and London. Kinch came first.

"Major Cole's all right." The impassive face revealed little emotion. "It's hard to replace the Colonel and we've only been working together what, two, two and a half months now? It'll be fine."

"Colonel Hogan spoke very highly of you," Wellston said. "He recommended you for officer's training in case you wished to go on in the military. General Seymour of the US Army said he would back you."

"Really?" Kinch's eyes widened in surprise. Wellston nodded. "Wow. Thank you, sir. I don't know what to say."

"I had nothing to do with it. You earned it, Sergeant. I know Colonel Hogan utterly trusted you. You were his right hand man." _Now I know why. Calm, cool, bloody stoic. Pity he's not English. We could definitely find a place for him. Use him in SIS, that's for sure._

Kinch smiled wistfully. "I miss him," he said softly.

"So do I," Wellston murmured.

The talk drifted to different subjects. Wellston found Sergeant Kinchloe reserved but open to talking once they'd established some common ground. He certainly didn't have the suspicion that LeBeau had, regarding him with distrustful eyes. "I'm here to observe, that's it, Corporal," Wellston said.

"Observe," LeBeau snorted. "You are here to see how we listen to Cole."

"Is the Major good to you?" _Hmm. Suspicious and angry. Yet, at least he's talking some._

"He is a typical officer."

"He's not Colonel Hogan."

"Non. He is not. Mon Colonel was special."

"Has he treated you poorly?"

"He is simply thoughtless. He cares nothing for France or the French people. He treats those he dislikes poorly and does not see why people act like they do. He made Newkirk spend 15 days in the cooler because he does not like Newkirk's 'attitude'." _Loyal to a fault. You were right, Robert. They would have followed you into Hell._

"Newkirk has an attitude?" Wellston raised an eyebrow. _The quintessential rebel. But then why would Robert ask what he did?_

"Oui," LeBeau admitted. "Just a little. But Colonel Hogan could always work with it. Even when we all first started working together, Colonel Hogan understood us. He could cajole anyone. Even Newkirk." _Well,, LeBeau's honest. Won't lie about his friend. Yet, I have to wonder what else these men aren't telling me._

Wellston nodded. "Major Cole has a difficult task." LeBeau shrugged. "Colonel Hogan wanted to send word to de Gaulle about your work." LeBeau's eyes brightened at the General's name. "He couldn't say much because of the nature of your work but your name will be given to the General and the French government for a commendation."

"Mon Colonel was always thoughtful," LeBeau said quietly, eyes bright with tears.

Sergeant Carter was effusive compared to Kinch and LeBeau, almost bouncing in his chair. Wellston hid a smile. Truly, he liked this young man, so full of hope and brimming with enthusiam. Yet, he already knew the eager beaver image was simply the tip of the iceberg. _This one's trouble but in a good way. Everyone sees the goofball but how many see the intelligent spy? I'll have to remember him. He could be very useful in the future. _"Colonel Hogan? He's the greatest! I mean, he was. He treated us all really well, like we were special. Major Cole, he's all right. He's just got a tough job. He needs to get to know us. Colonel Hogan got to know us, all of us. He'd play cards with us and everything."

Wellston smiled. "He recommended you go on and teach chemistry at university. Said you have unique qualifications."

"He did? Gosh, that's swell! I'd love to. I was going to go home and marry my girlfriend Mary Jane, only she's not my girlfriend any more. I thought about staying in the Army but I haven't seen Indiana for awhile. Or Bull Frog. That's in North Dakota and I go there every summer to visit my relatives." Carter paused.

"So you like Major Cole?"

"Sure. I like everyone. Except the Krauts and even a few of them are OK."

"Major Cole and the rest of the command crew?"

"They get along. We've had a few rough spots but it'll work out."

"Even Corporal Newkirk?" "Heck, Newkirk can be stubborn but he's great at his job. We all are."

"Could you send him to me?"

"You got it. Sir."

Newkirk appeared silently, all cold, green eyes and a thin smile with no warmth. "Group Captain," he said.

"Corporal Newkirk. I'm glad to see you." Wellston found it hard to reconcile the laughing, poker playing jester he'd seen in the barracks with the mistrustful man in front of him now. Only the semi-hidden twist in the smile was the same, someone who laughed and joked knowing it was all for naught. _He's not going to give me an inch. It's almost frightening how composed he is._

"What do you want?" Polite, military protocol but no friendliness.

"I'm trying to see how Major Cole is working out. And if you men need anything."

"He's 'ere. That's about it."

"I know Colonel Hogan is greatly missed."

"That's bleedin' obvious."

"He had a request in for you to become his aide after the war." Newkirk jerked, pupils widening. Wellston cocked his head at the startled expression, watched the mask slip. _Huh. That's surprising. _"You didn't know?"

"Colonel Hogan mentioned it once," Newkirk replied, voice soft. His face gentled, the mocking smile fading, and he looked away, studied the walls as if seeing something else. "Thank you, sir. For telling me."

"You're welcome." Newkirk stood. "Corporal?"

"I told you what you wanted." The coolness reentered his voice. "Sir."

"Why would you want to work for Hogan? Especially if he never asked you."

Newkirk shrugged and Wellston noted how slender the man appeared. "He was my mate," Newkirk quietly said. "I would 'ave said yes."

He left, shoulders hunched. Wellston watched him thoughtfully. After awhile, he softly drummed his fingers on the desk. Tonight the whole crew would go out to blow a munitions dump. He'd wait in the tunnels. contact London then and tell them how things were going. _They can keep going. Major Cole has to pay attention to them, however. I don't like how adrift they seem._

"Group Captain?"

Wellston smiled at Kinch. "Hello, Sergeant."

"Can I ask a favor, sir?"

Wellston jerked internally. "Of course. Please sit." The radioman sat, apprehension evident on his face.

"You told me Colonel Hogan recommended me for officer's training. Carter mentioned something about a university."

"Yes, Colonel Hogan commended all of the command crew, had special requests for them."

Kinch grinned. "That's the Colonel. Can I ask what about LeBeau and Newkirk?"

"They'd be taken care of," Wellston said, inwardly baffled. "Corporal LeBeau's name is being sent on to de Gaulle and Corporal Newkirk was to be Colonel Hogan's aide after the war."

If black men could pale, Kinch did at Wellston's words. Wellston grasped Kinch's arm. "Sergeant?"

"Nothing, sir. It's just--you cleared up something for me, sir." Kinch looked Wellston in the eyes and smiled weakly. "I really miss the Colonel. I never knew a better man or leader."

"He'll be remembered, Sergeant."

"Yes, sir." Kinch stood up. "Thank you."

"Anytime, Sergeant."


	10. Chapter 10

Kinch swallowed hard, back pressed hard against the hill behind him. He felt snow and water seeping into his shirt. The explosion of the munitions dump had cracked the snow weakened hill and even in the dark, Kinch could see the jagged stones far below. Lurid orange and red firelight flickered over everything along with the heavy stank of explosives and gunpowder. He briefly wondered where the rest of the team was. _Come on, guys. I'm toast if this hill gives way any more! _

"Blimey, Kinch, you sure can get in a mess." Newkirk's head popped over the hill. "Just don't move, all right?"

"Last thing on my mind." _Where am I going to go?!_

"That dump made a lot bigger bang than expected."

"Just get me out of here, Newkirk!"

"Hang on, hang on." The Englishman's voice held a soothing tone. "Got a bit of rope 'ere. If you can, tie it around your waist. Don't worry, we'll have you up in a tick." A rain slick rope fell practically on Kinch's head. "Good thing Louie saw which way you'd been tossed."

Kinch carefully knotted the rope around his waist, not liking the way his fingers trembled. "Ready."

"All right then."

A jerk then a steady pull and Kinch scrambled up the hill, mud and rock crumbling away at his touch. "Almost," he gasped as he neared the top.

A filthy hand grabbed his wrist. "Come on, mate." Newkirk heaved Kinch onto solid ground. Kinch shook his head, grinning at a panting LeBeau standing beside a tree that had been used as a pulley.

"Thanks. Carter and Cole?"

"Covering us. Come on, we'll have a job evading the Krauts as is. Hope you can run, Kinch." Newkirk rubbed a sleeve across his face, smearing the dirt. "How are you, LeBeau?"

"Fine. Kinch, you need to lose some weight." The petite Frenchman took a few more long breaths. "Let's go."

"Not a problem." Kinch jogged off, noting Newkirk hanging back to cover their backs. Guilt coursed through him.

When the men returned that night, the scent of fresh brewed coffee filled the tunnel "Merci," LeBeau said, teeth chattering as Group Captain Wellston handed him a mug. He pulled off his gloves and clasped his mug close.

"Snowing?"

"Raining and snowing," Carter said. "Kind of like hail but smaller." He grinned. "Got the dump blown."

"Blimey, Carter, don't just stand there." Newkirk pushed past, halting when he saw Wellston. "Oh. Sorry, Group Captain. Didn't know you were up yet."

"Quite all right. Have some coffee, Corporal."

"Thank you." Newkirk grabbed a mug and stood aside for Kinch and Major Cole. Kinch raised an eyebrow. Officers didn't make coffee for enlisted. Yet he took full advantage and grabbed a cup. Looking at his team mates, he grinned. Everyone bore blotches and patches of mud, were soaking wet yet everyone appeared all right. Major Cole even smiled. _Amazing what a good bombing can do. Now wonder Carter likes it!_

"Great job. Kinch, let London know we got the dump and then get cleaned up and dried off. We've got roll call in a few hours, so get some sleep, everyone."

"Yes, sir." "Whatever you say." "You got it." The voices chorused as if one.

Kinch touched Newkirk's arm as the Brit turned to leave. "I need to talk to you."

Newkirk nodded. "All right."

Kinch radioed London, then handed the headset back to Baker. Newkirk washed up and waited patiently as kinch followed suit. When done, Kinch hurried him down the tunnel to Klink's guest quarters. There he stopped, licked his lips. Newkirk watched him curiously. Kinch inhaled, glanced around. "Thank you for tonight," he said.

Newkirk waved him off. "Brothers, mate. It's what we do."

"I was wrong." Newkirk cocked his head and Kinch's cheeks reddened. "I talked to Wellston. He told me the Colonel had requested you to be his aide."

Newkirk stiffened. "I know."

"He wouldn't have..." Kinch stumbled over unfamiliar words. "He wouldn't have done that if he didn't, ah, want you around. I'm sorry for what I said. Obviously, he--cared for you." Kinch unconciously took a step back.

Newkirk rubbed his head. "Thank you," he said. "Kinch, it doesn't matter."

"It does. I was wrong, Newkirk. I said he couldn't love you and obviously, he, ah, did." Kinch straightened his shoulders. "I said the Colonel couldn't love you. I'm surprised you didn't punch me. Yet you still came back and saved me."

Newkirk glared at him. "What are you thinking? I mean it when I say we're brothers. You bleedin' drive me crazy but we're family! Of course I came back!"

"That's what I'm trying to say." Kinch paced a few steps. "I don't agree with what you and the Colonel did--it's still wrong to me--but Colonel Hogan was the best man I ever knew and you are family. Maybe the crazy uncle but still one of us." He smiled slightly. "You're not what I pictured a homosexual to be."

Newkirk shrugged, not smiling back. "What should I be?"

"Girly. Pretty. Delicate. Flounces."

"Sorry to disappoint."

Kinch stirred uncomfortably. "Look, Newkirk, um..."

Newkirk held up a hand. "Don't," he said harshly. "No more. Thanks for the apology. Look, the gov and I were lovers and that's it. No one needs to talk about it any more."

"Newkirk, I just need to know. What about you?"

"What? It's me." Newkirk managed a tight smile. "I'll be fine."

"Yeah, that's working out real well," Kinch muttered, rolling his eyes. "Newkirk, you're falling apart."

"I can do my job," Newkirk snarled.

Kinch and Newkirk eyed each other. "Jesus, Newkirk," Kinch said. "I understand you think you're all right but you were sleeping with your CO and he's dead. That has an effect!"

"I can handle this." Kinch and Newkirk eyeballed each other again.

"Calm down, both of you."

Newkirk and Kinch whirled. LeBeau and Carter walked their way. LeBeau still held his coffee and Carter just shook his head. "What are you two doing?" Kinch demanded.

"Looking for you two." Carter leaned against the wall. "Be glad LeBeau has the keenest ears here. We followed the shouting."

"We weren't yelling," Newkirk crossly said. "Just talking."

" So how did this happen?" Kinch asked. "You and the Colonel?"

"Never mind." Newkirk moodily stared into the coffee.

"It is unusual, Newkirk."

"I don't want to talk about it. Hogan's dead. That's it." He gulped his coffee and set the mug down. "Good night." He stalked off.

LeBeau and Carter looked at Kinch rather accusingly. "Look, I'm sorry," Kinch said sheepishly. " I'm kind of curious now. And he needs to understand he's not normal.."

"He knows that," LeBeau said. "He just needs to know people care."

"That's still weird," Kinch muttered. "Maybe he just hasn't met the right woman."

"Did you really tell him mon Colonel did not love him?'

Kinch sighed. "I didn't think Colonel Hogan did." He set his empty mug down. "How? How did we miss it? And why? Why Newkirk and why the Colonel?"

"He said he loved the Colonel," Carter reminded. "You said that too." He cocked his head. "He was really going to be the Colonel's aide?"

"From what the Group Captain said, yes." Kinch looked down the tunnel. "That's what convinced me. Colonel Hogan wanted him with him after the war."

"You can not explain love," LeBeau said.

"He's right." Carter glanced at his friends. "We better get going. So what do we do?"

"We watch him," Kinch said helplessly.

Newkirk hurried to the cooler tunnel, feeling his chest burn. He swallowed a few times, leaned his head against the wall. _Nothing like ruddy ripping out my heart again. At least, I know he did want me. We would have had a life after the war. No guarantees of happily ever after but we would had a chance. _Tears burned down his cheeks. _Sorry, Rob, I should have been there._ His chest tightened painfully. Two months and it just kept hurting worse. _Damn it, Rob, you should have taken me. Everyone keeps talking about how we have to move on. This just hurts more and more each day. I wish it would have been me._

Major Cole looked at Wellston. "You're heading out tomorrow?"

Wellston nodded. "I have other duties."

"So what's the verdict?"

Wellston sighed. "Major, I've only been here a week. Yet I have to wonder. You've run this unit for two, two and a half months. Have you tried to figure out why your command crew are the way they are? I've watched you use them, get their skills and services, but what are you doing to understand them out as people?"

"With all due respect, I'm not a shrink, Group Captain! I don't have the leisure to understand. We have missions to complete. We've done two in the week you've been here and that's slow."

"But you know Corporal Duncan plays a mean harmonica and that Corporal Simmons has family in Virginia. You know Private Summers has an array of girlfriends and Sergeant Blackwell enjoys painting. What does your command crew like?"

Cole flinched. "Carter's family lives in Indiana."

"And how many brothers and sisters does he have? What does Kinch do for fun? Does LeBeau have family?"

"I get your point, sir. Perhaps I haven't gotten to know them personally as I know others but I don't need their family history or even their affection. I need their obedience and respect."

"No, Major Cole. You seem to have forgotten. This isn't a simple fighting unit. These men risk their lives daily for no reward other than the knowledge of 'fighting the good fight'. If caught, the best, the **very best**, they can hope for is to be shot. This is not a typical job and they deserve far more than a typical commander. They need someone to look out for them. You care for the men, Major, I can see that. But your command crew needs special attention and you don't appear to do that. They are competent, devoted, but you need to win their loyalty. You prefer the Americans in this camp."

"I don't."

Wellston gave him a piercing look. "Then you present the image that you do. Frankly, Major, I saw that after a few days. What do you think your men see?" Major Cole bit back a sharp retort. Wellston studied him sympathetically. "These men will do what you ask," he said softly. "Just try to understand them."

"I'm guessing you don't recommend Rolston or Thompson."

"No. You may use whom you wish on a one shot mission or as backup but I will recommend your command crew stay as is. No one in this camp can match their skills and I'm sure you know that.

"You are very concerned about them."

"I gave Robert Hogan my word that I would care for his men."

Major Cole nodded. "All right. I can't say I agree with your decision but i understand it. Newkirk and Carter will take you to the rendezvous spot."

"No need." Group Captain Wellston stretched. "I simply need to get out of camp undetected."

"It's a long way to London cross country, sir."

Wellston laughed. "I'm not going to London." He tilted his head. "You're hardly the only spies in Germany, Major. Keep an eye out. You may see me again."

Major Cole chuckled. "I'll leave the camp spotlight on."

"Thank you." Wellston frowned thoughtfully. Do me a favor, Major. Have your medic--Wilson isn't it?" Cole nodded. "Have him check out your command crew physically. Some are looking a bit ragged."

"Sure. Good night."

"Good night, Major." _And good luck. I'll be keeping an eye on Stalag 13. _


	11. Chapter 11

The next day, Wilson surveyed the command crew. "Come on, Newkirk," he said.

"Why me?"

"I'm supposed to check out all of you. You're just first."

"Why?"

"Because you have an uncanny ability to disappear whenever medical issues come up."

Grumbling, Newkirk followed Wilson. Wilson completed the checkups quickly, scribbling notes on each man. When done, he headed for the tunnels. There Major Cole and Group Captain Wellston bent over a map. Major Cole straightened as Wilson neared. "I have the checkups done, sir."

"Thanks, Wilson. Any problems?"

"Other than they all need a six month vacation? Just a few." He glanced at the Group Captain.

"Go ahead," Cole ordered.

Wilson flipped through his notes. "They're all pretty good, sir. Carter's running a bit of a fever--just the slightest above normal. LeBeau shows some minor stress signs as does Kinch. Slightly elevated heartbeat, weight loss. Newkirk is, well, they're all running somewhat thin but Newkirk is definitely thinner than I'd like to see." Wilson frowned. "No one reported any problems. A couple scrapes, scratches."

"Why are they thin?" Wellston asked.

"Most likely, sir, stress. Granted, these four are the most physically active along with the Major but I think it's more than that. Adjusting to the Colonel's death takes time. They all seem to have rebounded but it takes a toll. I'm not a doctor, sir, but I'm giving you my best guess."

"Understood," Wellston said. "I appreciate your help, Sergeant." He glanced at Major Cole. "I can send some biscuits."

Major Cole looked confused briefly then smiled. "We can make our own cookies," he said. "Thanks, Sergeant."

"Anytime, sir."

Wilson left the two officers. He spotted LeBeau hanging laundry, Newkirk beside him. Kinch and Carter played catch. Wilson watched them briefly then walked over. "Eat something," he said to Newkirk.

"And hello to you too, mate."

"You're all too thin but you especially, Newkirk."

Newkirk rolled his eyes while LeBeau frowned. "I'm fine," Newkirk said.

"Just do it," Wilson ordered. Newkirk nodded.

"I will make fattening foods," LeBeau promised.

"Just steal Schultz's meals," Carter jested. He tossed Kinch the ball and looked at Newkirk. "You are kind of skinny."

"Look in the mirror, Carter."

Group Captain Wellston left like a shadow, promising the men he'd be in touch. In the dark barracks that night, while his colleagues slept around him, Newkirk gently opened his box. His fingers lingered on the book of poems, caressed several photos. While he saw nothing, he could recognize the items by touch. Gingerly, he allowed himself to imagine Hogan's smile, his long, lean fingers and laughing eyes. They'd never been able to be together as much as they liked but they'd been able to steal moments. Newkirk hated introspection, tried to avoid it as much as he could. Yet now he couldn't escape it. Carefully he put the box back in its wrapping, placed the box securely away, and replaced the board. Then he closed his eyes and tried not to dream. When he woke, stiff from cold and dreams he didn't want to recall, he smelled snow through the cracks in the barracks. He slid off, pulled his jacket tight. Snow drifted down as the men lined up. Carter bumped Newkirk's shoulder with his. Newkirk smiled slightly at him. He shuddered in the cold, feeling his feet tingling. _I can stand for hours watching your grave. Why am I cold now?_ He thought of the crudely made cross, marked only with Hogan's name and rank. As usual his mind wandered.

"Newkirk?"

He jerked, eyes refocusing. Carter stood beside him, staring at him. "Newkirk, what's wrong?"

"I'm cold," Newkirk said. "That's it."

"Come on."

Breakfast was normal--tasteless oatmeal gruel, a few pieces of brown bread, weak coffee. Newkirk ate listlessly, sipped the tepid coffee with barely a grimace. "Eat," Kinch muttered. "Cole's watching."

"This stuff's revolting."

"Just eat," Kinch said.

Newkirk choked down his food, stared at the bowl until Kinch pushed his arm "Come on," Kinch muttered. "Wood cutting detail for our barracks today."

"Charming."

Heavy, hard, dirty work. The men of Barracks Two chopped and loaded fallen trees from the nearby woods. Major Cole worked side by side with the men, gently chiding Schultz. Finally finished, the men wearily made their way back to lukewarm showers and spent the rest of the day treating blistered hands and minor cuts. Major Cole checked on them, noting the wariness in his command crew's faces. _Wellston was right. They don't trust me._

The routine of prison camp, mundane as it was, was an enemy all the men fought. As days drifted into weeks, missions came and went. Major Cole tried as best as he could to help the men. He even tried to open up with all his command crew. Carter was easy, willing to forgive anything. He chatted and talked, shared too much. Kinch, reserved and solemn, began responding after a week or so. LeBeau took two weeks to give anything and still regarded him suspiciously. Only Newkirk remained absolutely closed off. He did what Cole ordered, mouthed off somewhat with cheeky remarks, and allowed absolutely no intrusion of his personal life. When the men chatted together, Major Cole noticed Newkirk would leave if he came over. While Carter would spill tales of his sisters and younger brother, Newkirk shared nothing. In fact, Cole was realizing Newkirk brushed him off at all costs, often taking LeBeau with him as well. That bothered him more than it should. He understood grief but this simmering disdain he sensed was not normal and annoyed him to no end. Yet, Newkirk pulled his weight and Major Cole would not stoop to pleading for a scruffy subordinate to open up to him.

One bright albeit cold day, Carter chatted with a group of men from assorted barracks. Newkirk leaned on a nearby wall, lit a cigarette. The genial chiding didn't draw his attention until he heard Carter's voice raise defensively.

"I said they're not all like that and that's not a nice thing to say."

"Come on, Carter, how would you know?" Private Trenton stretched lazily, blew out smoke. "Do they run wild in Indiana?"

"I'm just saying you're saying rotten things about people you don't know."

"Looking, they're queer, that's all you need to know. They can't fight, can't do anything a man can." Collins sat on a lidded water barrel. "Think of them as girls without the good parts." He winked lavaciously.

Newkirk ended up behind Carter right as Carter opened his mouth. "Come on, Carter, the Major wants us." Newkirk nudged Carter. "Let's go." Carter nodded and followed Newkirk.

"What's up?" Carter asked.

"What are you ruddy doing?" Newkirk's question came out as a growl. "What are you thinking?"

"Huh?"

"Tunnel, mate." Newkirk nodded to Wilson as he passed. He also spotted LeBeau and Kinch following them. He knew Cole had a meeting with Klink. Once in the tunnels, in a quiet alcove_ (Only ruddy place for privacy!_), Newkirk wheeled on Carter. "What are you thinking?" he hissed. "Don't ever do that again!"

"What?"

"Don't defend homosexuals, all right!"

"But Newkirk, you and the Colonel...I mean, you are one."

"I know! And that's why I ruddy don't talk about it unless it's brought up by someone else, why I flirt and make passes at every attractive bird I meet, why I even make a joke or two, now and then."

"But they're wrong!"

"I know that. Andrew, what do you think they would do, what anyone would do if they found out?"

Carter frowned tightly. "I don't know."

"Look at 'ow Kinch reacted. It's not normal, mate, not acceptable at all."

"I know for a fact that Trenton has gotten close to a couple guys here!"

"Sex is different! We're not talking a quick grope or blowjob, mate." Part of Newkirk amusedly noted Carter's quick, shocked intake at the word blowjob. "We're talking men who prefer to be with men. Even if women were available."

"Look, I understand that."

"No, you don't. They'd kill me, Carter, without a doubt."

"We wouldn't let the Krauts know."

"I'm not talking about the Krauts."

Carter's eyes flashed as he understood. "They would not! No one would. We're prisoners together, friends!"

Newkirk exhaled noisily, sat on the tunnel floor. "Yes, Andrew, they would. I've seen it 'appen before. It doesn't matter what good I've done or if I'm a friend or not. The moment they learn the truth, I'm a walking dead man." He rubbed his head. "You really don't get it. I'm a freak, always have been. There are places people like me can be a bit more at ease. Used to be a lot more, especially here in Germany. But not now."

Carter slid down the wall to sit next to him. "They're wrong."

"That's not the point. Point is, no one suspects, no one can suspect."

"No wonder you're a great actor," Carter said, a hint of bitterness in his voice. Newkirk understood his point. He shrugged.

"Been doing it all me life." They sat together in silence for a few long moments.

"I'm surprised you haven't gone crazy, hiding everything, lying to people."

"Makes me a good spy. 'Sides, the gov and I understood the rules."

"You really think they'd kill you?" Carter studied his hands then looked at Newkirk with pleading eyes. Newkirk looked away.

"Yes."

"Why does anyone care so much?" Carter slammed his fist into his palm. "It's not their business!"

Newkirk sighed. "I appreciate what you're trying to do," he said. "Means a lot to me. Besides, I don't want anyone to think bad of Colonel Hogan. Now they see him as a hero. If they found out about him and I, that'd change."

"How have you been feeling?"

Newkirk jerked with surprise. "What?"

"Is it getting easier?" Carter asked.

"What? Losing the gov? Bleedin' hell, Andrew, how would it get easier? As I just explained, It's not like I 'ave anyone who ruddy understands!"

"Hey!"

"You try and that means more than you know." Newkirk patted his knee. "But I can't even ruddy explain it well. Carter, I fell in love with a man. And he with me. No one here could understand this except us." Newkirk sighed. "Just like I said, the others would kill me in a heartbeat." He stared at the wall, ignoring the burning in his eyes. "Losing him--it's like a bleedin' hole in my side."

"It gets easier," Carter lamely said.

Newkirk sighed, leaning his head back against the wall. "It doesn't," he whispered, closing his eyes, not wanting to let anything show. "It hasn't. The missions help, me mates help, but that hole isn't shrinking."

A tear trickled down Newkirk's cheek yet he didn't seem to know. Carter clumsily hugged him with one arm. Newkirk didn't open his eyes but smiled.

"He's right, Carter." Newkirk opened his eyes. Kinch strolled from the tunnel, looking more serious than Carter had ever seen him. "We can't let suspicion fall on Newkirk."

"But you are right, too, Andre. It is wrong." A miserable looking LeBeau came over, held out a hand to Carter. Carter grabbed it, scrambled to his feet. Newkirk did the same with Kinch's aid.

"You think _our_ men would kill him?" Carter asked. Kinch simply nodded. LeBeau muttered out cursewords but reluctantly nodded as well. Carter's chest tightened.

Newkirk gently slapped Carter's shoulder. "It'll be fine," he insisted. Carter eyed him oddly, then gave him a rough bear hug. Startled, Newkirk stumbled back a step and then hugged him back. Yet the desolation he'd spoken of kept ringing in Carter's ears and mind, even after they headed topside for supper. _The moment they learn, I'm a walking dead man._


	12. Chapter 12

Kommandant Klink paced the camp restlessly. It was rare that he got insomnia but he learned to handle it years ago. A long walk always helped him. Snowflakes spun around him and he scowled. Late winter snow--that was all he needed. A shadow caught his eye and he whirled. A figure stood nearby and Klink's lips thinned as he recognized Newkirk. He stepped forward to shout for his guards but suddenly paused. The Englander simply stood in the prisoner cemetery, staring at the graves. Klink watched curiously. Newkirk touched the cross on Hogan's grave once but the rest of the time he simply stood like a statue, a silent ghost keeping watch. Klink finally drew closer, surprised the sharp eared Englander didn't turn. Dim light turned Newkirk's face into a whitish circle with dark holes for eyes. "Corporal, what are you doing here?"

Newkirk turned then, startled. "Just a bit peckish, Kommandant. Thought a little fresh air might do me some good. I'll scarper back to the barracks now."

"Wait." Klink held up his hand. "At ease, Corporal. You miss Hogan, no?"

"He was a good man, sir." Newkirk swallowed hard. Klink noted lines around the prisoner's eyes, a gauntness he didn't recall. He looked closer. The corporal definitely appeared thinner but what prisoner didn't these days? The prisoners received decent food but they were captives and sometimes food supplies ran low. Still, it bothered him.

"Still, Corporal, it has been three months, almost four. Surely you and Major Cole get along," he said probingly.

"Yes, Kommandant."

"So why are you here,hmm?"

"Just visiting."

Klink smiled as a thought struck him. "Would you like to visit anytime you like?"

Newkirk eyed him. "All right," he said softly. "What's the catch?"

"Catch?"

"What do you want?" Newkirk asked.

"Want? I simply thought you might like to visit Hogan's grave."

"You'd want something, Kommandant. It's in your blood."

Klink bit his lip at the insult. "A favor now and then, perhaps. Nothing big," Klink tempted.

Newkirk smiled slightly. "No, thank you, Kommandant."

Enraged now, Klink stomped his foot. "It's that or 60 days in the cooler!" Certainly Newkirk would give in now...

Newkirk only shrugged. "Cooler's like a second home to me now."

"On bread and water!" Newkirk simply nodded. Klink glared at him, wondering why his British prisoners were all so pig headed, especially this one. "Schultz!" he yelled.

"Herr Kommandant? What are you doing up?" Schultz hurried from the dark. "And Newkirk? Herr Kommandant, I beg to report I have captured the Englander away from his barracks." He grabbed Newkirk's arm.

"Really?" Klink asked witheringly. "I never would have guessed. He has only been here for hours."

"He could not have been! I have patrolled the camp myself."

"Enough," Klink snapped. "Take the prisoner to the cooler and bring Major Cole to me."

"But he is sleeping!"

"I do not care! Bring him. Obviously his men are not sleeping!"

"Jawohl, Herr Kommandant."

Back in the cooler, Newkirk yawned and laid down, wrapping himself in the thin, slightly musty blanket. He had a feeling he wouldn't get a chance to sleep for long.

Major Cole glared down at his sleeping Englishman. "Did you have fun?" he asked pointedly. Newkirk opened his eyes.

"Major?"

"Flitting around in the snow? Was it fun?"

Newkirk sat up, stretching. "Just 'ad to stretch me legs a bit."

"And Klink just had to find you. Damn it, Corporal, what were you thinking?"

"Told you, stretching my legs. Sir."

"Beside Colonel Hogan's grave?"

Newkirk smiled slightly. "Paying my respects."

"At 0200?"

"Whenever the mood strikes."

Cole sighed, grabbing his temper and settling it back down. "I understand you miss Hogan," he started. _The damn man's been dead over 90 days! Give it up already! Besides, that last thing I expect from you is grief. You spend your days playing cards and cracking jokes. You hardly miss Hogan. What are you up to? _"But there is nothing that can be done about it. It's war, Newkirk. People die." _So grow UP, damn it!!_

Newkirk eyed him as if reading his thoughts. Then he lifted one shoulder in a noncommittal way. "I'm sorry you were disturbed."

"Tomorrow night you'll meet with Marya at the Haufbreau," Cole said lowly. "Exercise will do you good."

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "Why not LeBeau?"

"He and Carter will be with me. I'll give you the details after lights out."

Newkirk nodded but Cole didn't like the glint in his eyes. The next night, when he, Carter, and LeBeau returned from a successful scouting mission, he looked for Newkirk in the tunnel. "He's not here?' he asked Kinch.

"Not yet, Major." Kinch said.

"He should have beat us back," Cole said in frustration.

"You sent him on a mission with a pretty lady. Newkirk is always late from those." The black man's face split into a wide grin.

Cole felt his lips pull into a frown as the rest of his team chuckled. "He better not be horsing around," he muttered.

"It has been a long time," Carter mused.

"Marya would not do such things! She is pure," LeBeau argued.

Cole rolled his eyes. The lovely Russian was many things but hardly pure. He paced some, glanced at Kinch. "Send him to me when he gets in."

"Yes, sir."

Five minutes to roll call and then cooler check. Cole walked the floor of his quarters. _He better have one damn good reason for this. How in the blazes did Hogan deal with this? And more importantly, why? Newkirk and LeBeau should have been sent packing after the first week._ A soft knock and Newkirk slid into the room. Cole shoved his hands in his pockets, noted a faint smell of perfume. "Where have you been?"_I can't believe this. Frolicking with some woman while the rest of us try to win the war?_

Newkirk inhaled, rubbed his hand over his face. "Running," he shortly said. "Here's the info from Marya." He handed Cole a large envelope. "She also had something for the Underground."

"What?"

"Said it was film that had to get to London ASAP. I dropped it off with Tiger. That's why I'm late."

Cole's jaw dropped. "You what?"

"Got it to Tiger."

"Without bringing it to me first?"

Newkirk looked briefly confused. "It needed to get to the Underground."

"You idiot! You should have brought it here so we could view and clear it! What if it's a set up?"

Newkirk's jaw tensed. "I told Tiger it might be dodgy. She understands that. She'll also warn London--like we can."

"Why didn't you bring it here?"

"I made a decision, sir. For the war effort."

"I don't know if Hogan tolerated this insubordination but I won't! "

"He trusted my judgement!"

"I can't imagine why! But if you are this eager to work, Corporal, I have plenty for you to do!"


	13. Chapter 13

Kinch heard the heavy breathing in the tunnel long before he spotted Newkirk. The Englishman stood braced against the wall, ribs heaving. Like an exhausted horse, he had his head down, eyes closed, simply breathing in huge, heaving gulps. Mud splattered blacks clung to him. Sweat dripped off his face. The aroma of wet, crushed leaves and grass clung to him. "Newkirk?"

Newkirk lifted his head, cracked open an eye. "Hey, Kinch."

"What in the world?"

"Had to run from the rendezvous spot. LeBeau and Cole get back?"

"Yeah." Kinch shook his head. Newkirk looked like hell. London and the Underground had kept them hopping. Cole had kept Newkirk literally_ running_. Kinch didn't really know what had ticked off their CO but Newkirk now bore the brunt of every mission and task Cole could think of. From scouting to meeting with the Underground to picking up supplies, Newkirk was on the mission. Kinch poured a cup of water and handed it to Newkirk. Newkirk shook his head but Kinch forced the tin mug into his hand and Newkirk drank. "Newkirk, just what did you do to piss off Cole?"

"Do it matter?"

"He's working you like a rented mule. Yeah, it matters."

Newkirk straightened up. "I took film to Tiger without his permission."

"Come again?"

"Marya had film to get to the Underground. I had time, raced it to Tiger's." Newkirk exhaled noisily. "Cole didn't approve. Called it insubordination."

"What?" Kinch stared at his friend. "That's crazy."

"He's an officer." Newkirk finished the water, rubbed a grubby sleeved over his face. "Least I can ruddy rest in the cooler." He sighed. "Night Kinch."

"Night." Kinch watched Newkirk leave, slightly favoring his right leg. He settled himself back at the radio, thoughts turning over in his head, like a squirrel with acorns in his paws. Finally, as roll call neared, he shut down the radio and headed upstairs. There he spotted a light in the senior POW's quarters. He knocked quietly.

"Enter."

Kinch slipped inside. Cole looked up from his table, eyes ringed with shadow. _Huh. He's exhausted, too. _"News, Kinch?"

"Radio's off and roll call's in 10. Sir, can I speak freely?"

Cole's eyes widened. "Of course. Problems?"

Kinch inwardly twitched. "Newkirk."

"He get back OK?"

"Yes. Major, uh, I know people command in different ways but you're killing him."

Major Cole sighed, gave Kinch a weary half smile. "I know I'm being hard on him. Frankly, Kinch, I have to. Not just because of the attitude but right now he's needed. Carter's cold leaves us one short and with Newkirk in the cooler, he can rest in the day."

"Sir, Newkirk has his issues but I don't think you're seeing what you're doing to him."

"I do. He's healthy, strong, and can do all the jobs I assign him. He doesn't have any work details as he's in the cooler, so he can work at night. Besides, I'm not working him harder than I work myself."

"With all due respect, sir, this isn't just work you're giving him. You're proving a point to him." Kinch tensed inwardly. Officers hated to be questioned, especially white officers. Cole smiled, however.

"A bit, perhaps. Kinch, armies break their men to rebuild them in the military way. You know that."

Kinch's insides froze. "Major," he stammered. "I don't think..." His voice trailed off. _How do I explain? Breaking Newkirk to rebuild him? That won't work--we're a sabotage unit, we're not rank and file! And we're not raw recruits. _

"You don't think I can break him?"

"Anyone can be broken, sir," Kinch said. _You just aren't going to like what remains! Some people can't be broke and rebuilt. And he's doesn't need it, damn it! We've all proven ourselves. Why do we have to do it AGAIN?_

"Besides, he volunteers for some of these missions."

Kinch eyed his CO. "Volunteers?" He could hear the disbelief in his own voice.

"He has. He is the best candidate."

Kinch's mind raced. He knew it was logical--Newkirk had an excellent command of German (after intensive lessons, Kinch knew they all did), had acting experience, and had learned to surpress his accent quickly. He also had slight of hand, was used to making things up on the fly, and could lie his way out of any situation. Kinch knew his German was even better but his race knocked him out of contention except for phone calls. _Carter can do what Newkirk does and Cole likes him more. Andrew does get rattled a bit. LeBeau's accent is still somewhat noticable at times and hell, Newkirk and Carter are our best actors. Newkirk just likes to go 'off script' and he has that temper. Makes him a great Kraut. He's also a born devil's advocate. I know Cole hates when Newkirk pops holes in his plans, always borrowing trouble and dark possibilties. Funny how the Colonel turned that around and actually used it for all our benefit. Why can't Cole? And why would Newkirk volunteer? He never volunteers! Unless... Wonderful. I bet Cole proposed using LeBeau or Carter and Newkirk 'volunteered' to prevent them from getting into trouble. Nice. Nice exploitation of someone's loyalty. I guess I'll have to ask to make sure._ "Newkirk volunteered?_"_

"Him or Carter. I didn't have a choice."

_I hate being right sometimes._

Kinch brought Newkirk his breakfast that morning, not surprised to see Newkirk sleeping in an exhausted heap. When he entered, Newkirk opened his eyes and nodded. He sat up and ate quickly. "Thanks," he said softly.

"You're welcome. Newkirk, sorry about Cole."

"He's not any worse than any other officer." Newkirk gave a twisted smile. "I'm fine, Kinch."

_Yeah, right. Yet, _Kinch gave Newkirk a squeeze on the shoulder and left.

Back at the barracks, he checked on Carter. The younger man sat at the table, drinking tea and watched by LeBeau. The pungent smell of herbs filled the room. Kinch grinned. LeBeau's herbal remedies were many and most tasted horrid. Yet they usually helped. Carter looked at him curiously and Kinch poured some coffee. Mentally he admitted Carter's so called cold bothered him. Carter's cold made him wheeze and hack like a man of 90. Kinch mainly hated it because it came and went. Carter would seemed to be fine for a few days then the slight coughing would start all over. LeBeau handed Kinch some sugar "Newkirk?"

"Sleeping," Kinch muttered.

"Is he mad?" Carter asked anxiously. "I know the Major wanted me to go."

"He's not mad." Kinch noted LeBeau's raised eyebrow. "The Major has to use Newkirk, LeBeau."

LeBeau snorted but didn't argue. Olson hurried in. "Hochstetter and Burkhalter are here," he reported. "Get ready for an emergency roll call."


	14. Chapter 14

Major Hochstetter studied the prisoners in front of him. Major Cole stared expressionlessly back at him yet Hochstetter sensed the man's dislike of him. That wasn't unusual. It'd be unusual if he didn't sense it. He glanced at the men, noted one missing. "Where is the Englander, Klink?"

"Corporal Newkirk? In the cooler."

"Again?" Burkhalter exclaimed. "What is it this time, Klink? He seems to be in the cooler more than in the barracks."

"He was caught outside the barracks after dark," Klink explained.

"Trying to escape?" Hochstetter glanced at Klink quickly.

Klink laughed. "Newkirk knows better than that." He gestured to the General to head for the office. Burkhalter nodded and headed inside. Klink and Hochstetter followed. "He was caught in the prisoner cemetery," Klink continued once inside. "Apparently, he misses Colonel Hogan as he stood by his grave."

"Hogan?" Burkhalter said. "Did he do anything?"

"No. Just stood there."

"That is suspicious," Hochstetter said. _What was he doing by Hogan's grave? Was he waiting for a contact? _"And why is there a cemetery for the prisoners?"

"Prisoners die sometimes," Klink said.

"And their bodies are to be burned per regulations!" Hochstetter felt his eyes narrow. Trust Klink to break such a basic rule! _If it wasn't for Burkhalter, I'd been rid of Kommandant Idiot long ago!_

Klink's eyes widened. "Major, it is harmless! The prisoners care for the cemetery."

"So harmless one sneaks out of his barracks and stands there!"

"He was captured, Major. He simply seemed to miss Hogan. Why, I don't know."

"It is harmless, Major," Burkhalter interrupted as he poured himself schnapps. Major Hochstetter bit back a sharp remark, tried to soften his tone.

"It is a flaunting of regulations, Herr General. All those enemy bodies should have been incinerated."

"The cemetery has been here..." Klink started.

"Bah! Burn them Klink!" _I'm hardly wasting courtesy on YOU_.

"Major, the prisoners," Klink stammered, aghast. "These were their friends."

"You seem to keep forgetting, Klink, they are the enemy!"

"What problems does it cause, Major?" Burkhalter eyed the Gestapo man and Hochstetter read his disgust. _If he only knew how hard we Gestapo work! _ "And Stalag 13 has no crematorium or incinerator large enough."

"Stalag 7 does. My men will dig those bodies up and burn them per regulations," Hochstetter said.

"Major, Hogan is there," Klink reminded.

"So?"

"He was their CO. They will be upset!"

"So what? If they become too upset, Klink, shoot them! This is war." _Why are you such a fool?!_

"You are much too quick to go to the gun, Major." General Burkhalter drank his schnapps. "We are not here to dig up the dead. The cemetery does no harm."

"The Fuhrer demands it, Herr General."

Burkhalter sighed. "Fine. Then you shall remove the bodies quickly with the prisoners restricted to the barracks."

"Of course, General." _Let them see! Let them know what the future holds!_

"May I ask why you are here, Herr General?" Klink offered the General a cigar, glancing at Hochstetter from the corner of his eye. _He is so afraid of me. Good._

"Two SS officers were killed in Hammelburg, Klink. The Major seems to think Stalag 13 was involved."

"That's ridiculous! No one has ever escaped from Stalag 13!"

"These were the men who killed Hogan," Hochstetter said. A notion suddenly struck him. "I want to speak to your Englander, Klink." _Perhaps he knows secrets._

"He's been in the cooler for three weeks, Major."

"Your cooler, Klink. It might as well have a revolving door on it! Now, bring him here!"

"Fine!" Klink called Schultz and told him to bring Newkirk to the office. Burkhalter looked at Hochstetter.

"You honestly think that a corporal killed those men?"

_You think a corporal can not? Our Fuhrer was once a Corporal! _"I think anyone who stands around in the middle of the night is suspicious."

Schultz pushed Newkirk into the room. Hochstetter studied the man carefully. Surprisingly, the Englander didn't seem afraid, merely wary as he boldly returned Hochstetter's scrutiny. "Why were you at Hogan's grave, Corporal?"

"Paying my respects." The corporal tilted his head. "You aren't 'ere for that, are you? Is that what they 'ave Gestapo do?"

"I'm here to follow up on suspicious behavior. Why were you there?"

"I told you."

"I do not believe you! It has been four months since Hogan was shot. Why would you still go? Grief? Loneliness? Bah. There is more to this."

Newkirk stared at him. "He was a good officer."

"He was a spy!"

Newkirk looked bored now, glanced over at the General. "Not that I knew of."

"But you were in his command team. And now Cole has picked you for his team too. Why?" _All of Hogan's old command team are now Cole's. Why did he keep them? Simply to keep the prisoners happy, prevent trouble? Or are these men somehow special? _

"I'm already broken in, sir."

Despite himself, Major Hochstetter snorted. "Where were you last night, Corporal?"

"In my dreams or in reality?'

"Do not play the fool with me, Corporal!"

The Englander tilted his head like a puzzled dog. "I was in my cell," he slowly said, as if talking to a child. "I'm in the cooler for the next six weeks."

"I think you were meeting with the Underground!"

"You're balmy, Major. 'Ow would I even know any Underground people?"

"Two SS officers were killed last night."

A slow smile crept across Newkirk's face. "Isn't that a blooming shame?" he softly said.

"You think it is funny?" _How dare he smile!_

"I think it's ruddy hilarious."

The resulting slap sent Newkirk's head back but his smile never wavered, not even as a tiny drop of blood trickled down his chin. "Enough, Hochstetter!" Burkhalter barked.

"I want this man to help dig up the cemetery, Klink!"

"Of course, Herr Major. But really, there is no need..."

"Now, Klink!"

"At once! Schultz, take Corporal Newkirk to the cemetery to begin digging."

"Digging what?" Newkirk demanded. Hochstetter felt a warmth in his stomach at the Englishman's anger and slight fear.

"The bodies are to be dug up and burned. Regulations, Corporal."

"You can't. They're ours! Our people. And the Colonel is there!"

"There are rules, Corporal," Hochstetter stated, enjoying the prisoner's rage. _Laugh at your betters, will you? _Newkirk stilled, staring at him in a way that made Hochstetter's instincts scream. He paced closer, staring at the Corporal. _Stone cold now. There is something here...._ "Why were you at the grave, Newkirk?"

"I told the Kommandant. I was stretching my legs."

"So. You are bored, no?"

"I'm a bleedin' prisoner of war. What do you think?"

"Take him and have him start digging," Hochstetter said.

"Jawohl, herr Major! Come, Newkirk." Schultz grasped Newkirk's arm.

"No."

Hochstetter turned and both Klink and Burkhalter froze. "What?" Klink demanded. Hochstetter studied the Englishman. _He could not have just said no to me._

"I will not dig up the graves." Newkirk stared at Hochstetter. _He did say no. I will skin you alive._

"You do not give the orders, Corporal." Burkhalter rose to his feet. Newkirk glanced at him then back to Hochstetter.

"I won't. You want that done, Major, get your own Gestapo rats to do it."

Hochstetter stepped directly in front of Newkirk, forcing his fury down. "I could have you shot."

Newkirk didn't move, simply gazed down at him expressionlessly. "Then do it. Because I am not digging up Hogan or anyone else."

Silence reigned. Schultz shifted awkwardly. Intriged, Hochstetter studied Newkirk again, allowing a smile to curve his lips. "So. You were close to Hogan and wish his grave undisturbed." Newkirk didn't speak. "Just how close were you, Corporal? He was an American officer. You are a British enlisted. How much could you have in common?" Again, nothing. Inwardly, Hochstetter did cartwheels of glee. Here was something, something far more than he had ever expected. The stillness of the corporal itself spoke volumes, reminding Hochstetter of some of the finest Gestapo. "Perhaps you simply need time to think. Take him back to the cooler, Schultz."

"Jawohl, herr Major!"

Newkirk glanced at Hochstetter one last time, icy eyed and emotionless. Hochstetter allowed himself a smile. _Do not fret, Corporal. We have much more to talk about._


	15. Chapter 15

Major Cole unplugged the coffee pot and sat back in his chair. "Damn," he muttered.

"What are we going to do? We can not let them burn the Colonel or the others!" LeBeau exclaimed.

"Calm down, " Cole said. "We'll figure something out. What's our closest tunnel to the cemetery?"

"The one to Klink's office," Kinch said. "We never dug one near the cemetery because we didn't want anything to collapse. Also, since we dig the graves, we're always watched so we don't steal the shovels."

Cole nodded. "Anything hidden in those graves? Anything that would put us at risk?"

"I don't think so," Kinch said slowly.

"Good. Carter, is what Hochstetter hinting at possible?"

"What?"

"Newkirk and Hogan, were they close?" Cole gazed at Carter steadily. Carter looked blankly at him.

"We were all close, Major. I mean, Colonel Hogan was friends with all of us."

"Close, Carter. In a non military way."

Carter scratched his head. "I don't think so," he said dubiously. "I mean, they played cards and Colonel Hogan gave us German lessons."

Cole's jaw tightened. "Were they screwing?"

Carter's eyes widened until they were almost all pupil. "What?! As in _sex_? They're both guys, sir! No. No way!"

Cole nodded. "All right. Thanks."

"I mean, the Colonel had women everywhere and Newkirk hits on every woman he sees and..."

"_Enough_, Carter." Cole drummed his fingers on the table. "I'll go chat with Klink and Hochstetter. Go pump the guards and someone tell Newkirk to keep his mouth shut." He gestured and the men left his quarters. Major Cole headed for Klink's office. Carter felt LeBeau and Kinch staring at him.

"What?" he demanded.

"I'm impressed," Kinch said with a grin, pouring a cup of coffee.

_"Oui,_" LeBeau agreed. "Good work."

"Heck, we're spies, right?'

"Still, I don't like it," Kinch frowned. "Damn it, I wish we'd never found out."

LeBeau frowned right back at him. "He is one of us," he snapped.

"And if Cole finds out, you can write that on our headstones."

LeBeau narrowed his eyes. "Enough, guys," Carter said uncomfortably. He sneezed and both men looked at him. "I'm fine. My cold is gone."

"Right," Kinch scoffed. "Look, LeBeau, do you want to pass the Major's message to Newkirk?"

LeBeau nodded. He hastily poured a bit of stew in a pot, warmed it, and grabbed some candy bars. He hurried to the cooler, bribing Schultz with a candy bar. In the dim light, he could hear Newkirk pacing in his cell, only stopping when the Frenchman neared. "Here," LeBeau said, shoving the covered pot at Newkirk.

"Did you hear?"

_"Oui."_ LeBeau looked around hurriedly to be sure they were alone. "Newkirk, did you leave anything in Colonel Hogan's coffin? Anything that might draw attention to you?"

To his credit, Newkirk didn't dissemble or try to play stupid. "No," he said. "Save an eagle I carved for him."

"Good." LeBeau swallowed quickly. "Major Cole says you are to be silent."

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "You think?" LeBeau grinned.

"He is asking questions, _mon ami_. Hochstetter made Major Cole think."

Newkirk sat on the bunk, took a few bites. "Cole asking questions?" LeBeau nodded. "About what?"

"You and Colonel Hogan."

Newkirk stopped eating. "Son of a bitch."

Newkirk ran a hand through his hair and LeBeau winced at the look on his face. "Do not worry. We--rather Carter--covered for you."

"Carter?"

"He did wonderfully. Eat. Quickly." Newkirk nodded and took another few bites.

"So what is Cole planning?"

"I do not know."

"They can't burn those corpses, Louie."

"I know. Major Cole said he will think of something."

"I 'ope so."

LeBeau turned as Schultz hurried their way. "Come on, LeBeau. Back to the barracks."

"Don't rush me, Schultzie."

Schultz grasped LeBeau's arm. "Come on. Orders of the Gestapo! All prisoners confined to the barracks."

"Why?" Newkirk demanded.

"I know nothing!"

LeBeau and Newkirk grinned. "I just may have a candy bar," Newkirk mused. "No ideas, Schultz?" LeBeau waved a chocolate bar in front of Schultz. The heavy set guard snatched the bar from LeBeau and leaned close.

"No idea. But the Gestapo have blocked off the prisoner cemetery and brought in a big truck."

Newkirk shot to his feet and LeBeau held up a hand. "I will check with the Major," he assured Newkirk.

Alone in the cooler, Newkirk resumed pacing. _They can't. They can't open those graves. Rob, what can Hochstetter want? They've already taken your life. _

Lebeau suddenly reappeared, running to Newkirk. "I have to ask," he gasped.

"LEBEAU!" Schultz yelled.

"Ask what?" Newkirk stared at his friend.

"The SS? Those _couchons _who killed mon Colonel? Was it you?"

Newkirk gazed at his friend in startlement as Schultz stormed into the cooler. As Schultz neared, he gave a quick nod and LeBeau smiled. He grabbed Newkirk's hand quickly, squeezed it tight.

"Good," he whispered. "Viva la France!"

Newkirk watched Schultz drag off LeBeau, slumping onto the bunk. _It's not enough, LeBeau. Hochstetter hasn't paid yet. _A more frightening thought entered his head.

_It'll never be enough._

Carter ignored the slight burning in his chest that told him his cold was returning. He hated being sick, fighting the constant weariness that accompanied every breath. Part of him knew this cold was something else but he couldn't diagnose himself and anyway, he was tired of watching his friends work while he rested. He glanced out the window and bit his lip. The Gestapo were digging. "Major?" he called.

Cole stalked over. He looked at the cemetery and muttered cursewords. "They're taking them."

"Taking what?" Mills inquired.

"The bodies," Carter said. "They're digging up the cemetery."

"Our cemetery?" Parks blurted. "They're digging up the Colonel? Why?"

"To burn them," Cole said.

"We can try a mass escape," LeBeau suggested.

"Into the Gestapo?" Cole snapped.

"A diversion, a fire," Kinch said.

"Hochstetter is determined," Cole said.

"They can't burn those men," Mills stated desprately. "It's not right! It's blasphemy!"

"It's their regulations and frankly I don't know how to stop them," Cole said, closing the shutter. "I'd hoped Hochstetter would give us a day or so."

"Major, we have to do something," Olson stated.

"Like what? I'm open to suggestions."

"How about getting the truck after it leaves the camp?" Carter said. "We take it and bury the bodies somewhere else."

"Not bad," Cole said. "But I imagine Hochstetter will be with the truck. And where can we bury them?"

"We can blow him up , too," LeBeau said.

"Tempting," Kinch said.

"If we can get the truck, we will," Cole said.

"And if we can't?" Parks asked.

"They're already dead, Private." Cole studied his coffee. "It's wrong but those men can never be disgraced, no matter what happens to their bodies. Their souls have already gone to their reward."

LeBeau didn't roll his eyes but felt like it. When the Major went into his quarters, Kinch gestured to Cater and him. "Did you speak to Newkirk?" he whispered to LeBeau.

"Oui. He says there is nothing he put there except a carved eagle."

Kinch raised an eyebrow. "OK. Carter, can you go through Newkirk's stuff when you get a chance?"

"Why?"

"Because I don't want the Gestapo _or_ Cole finding any clues. Is there anything you know of?"

Carter nodded. "His box," he whispered. "In the wall with his books."

"OK. We get it hidden tonight. Put it in the lab or something."

Carter nodded. That night, he slipped the books and box into a sack, gave it to LeBeau. He watched the compound, shaking as long pine boxes were loaded into the waiting truck. "Andre?"

"They're really taking them, LeBeau."

He heard LeBeau's inhale, heard the other men shuffle behind him. Mills pushed open the door further as the large truck rumbled towards the gate. Carter spotted other barracks doors opening, watching the truck leave. Hochstetter's car followed it. Carter turned , hurried to Major Cole's office. He knocked and entered. Cole stood by the window, watching the truck leave. "We can stop them," Carter said quickly.

"We can't, Carter."

"Why not?'

"Well, Burkhalter is joining Hochstetter as is Klink. And they took Newkirk."


	16. Chapter 16

Newkirk studied Stalag 7 with curious eyes. Same layout as Stalag 13, same wooden barracks but no flowers, no splotches of color. Add a heavy coating of grey despair and guns and Newkirk saw what Stalag 13 could be. Prisoners meandered the compound, monitored by sharp eyed guards. "Come on, Newkirk," Klink ordered. Newkirk glanced quickly at him. Klink seemed nervous, annoyed. _What's he all hot and bothered about? _ "Ah, Kommandant Hiese." Newkirk turned. A small, heavy set man in a German Colonel's uniform glared at Klink , then saluted the General and Hochstter. He ignored Newkirk entirely. _So that's it. Old Bald Eagle hates this one, all right._

"Klink," he said. "Heil Hitler, herr General, herr Major!"

"Yes, yes," Burkhalter said dismissively. "Is the crematorium heated?"

"Yes, sir. As you ordered." He glanced at the truck and then finally at Newkirk. "What is he here for?"

"He will be helping burn the bodies," Hochstetter said. Newkirk eyed him. _Maybe I can push him in...Naw, too risky. But very tempting. _Hochstetter gestured and one of the Gestapo guards pushed hard on Newkirk's back. He stumbled forward and glared.

"Easy, Fritz," he snapped. "You could bloody ask, you know." Newkirk then glanced at Hochstetter and said nothing more. He followed Hochstetter obediently to a large, white, concrete building that looked like an infirmary. Inside, white walls and clean floors made him twitch. The smell of bleach and antiseptic filled the air. _I ruddy hate this. _A heavy set man in a white lab coat turned around.

_"Was ist das? _(What is this?)" he asked.

"We are here to burn bodies," Hochstetter said. He gestured to Newkirk who, after a shove, reluctantly walked to him. "Now, Corporal, do you understand? You will put the bodies in the crematorium."

"Major, I already said I won't. It's wrong, sacrilegious. The Geneva Convention says I don't have to."

"_Ist er jüdische?_ (Is he Jewish?)" The man Newkirk assumed was a doctor looked curiously at Newkirk.

"_Nein._" Hochstetter glared at Newkirk. "Fine. Let us talk, Corporal. How would you like your Colonel Hogan back? Alive? Healthy?"

Newkirk stared at Hochstetter. "Don't think you can raise the dead, Major."

Hochstetter smiled, making himself truly frightening. "I can not. But who is to say Colonel Hogan has not been under the care of the Gestapo these long months?"

For the merest flicker of time, Newkirk found himself filled with hope and longing, so strong his knees threaten to buckle. Then reality righted itself. "Sorry, Major, he's dead," he softly said. "We were allowed to wrap the Colonel's body after you paraded him around." _Do you think we wouldn't have looked? Do you think I didn't hope you'd killed an impostor? I would have given my soul for that. _

Hochstetter eyed him as if reading his thoughts. "Come with me, Corporal," he ordered. "Let me show you a few things."

When the truck rolled back into Stalag 13 late the next day, Major Cole was the first one over to the truck. A Gestapo guard gestured and Newkirk hopped out, reeking of smoke and char. Major Cole grasped Newkirk's arm and steadied him as he wobbled slightly. Newkirk jerked and looked at him, then nodded. "I'm fine, Major."

"You look like hell."

"Could use a shower." Newkirk wiped a filthy sleeve over his equally filthy face. Klink hurried over.

"Schultz, take Corporal Newkirk to the delousing shed and the showers. Afterwards, he is to go straight to the cooler."

"At once, herr Kommandant."

Cole glanced at Newkirk who merely shrugged at him as he was lead away. "LeBeau, take a clean uniform to Newkirk in the showers," he ordered.

"Oui."

"When he's back at the cooler, let me know."

In his quarters. he patiently waited until LeBeau told him Newkirk was heading back to the cooler with Schultz and then went through the tunnels. He found Newkirk splayed on his bunk, skin an odd ashy tone and staring blankly at the ceiling. He reeked of delousing disinfectant and his eyes appeared enormous. "Newkirk?"

"What, Major?" Newkirk sounded half dead and didn't even bother to look at him.

"What happened?"

"They burned the bodies."

Cole waited. "Anything else?" he finally prompted.

Newkirk finally looked at him. "Do we have to do this now?" he asked peevishly.

"I would appreciate it."

Newkirk growled and sat up on the edge of the bunk. "They burned the bodies," he flatly repeated. "I watched. Afterwards. I cleaned the lab and when the crematorium cooled off, I got to clean that out. Anything else?"

Cole sighed. "I know it must have been difficult." Newkirk gazed at him blankly. "Look, you can relax, Corporal. I just thought we should talk. Freely. Alone."

"Why?" Suspicion sang in every word.

"I thought you might want to chat. I realized after you were taken, I still don't know much about you."

"You have a ruddy file, Major." Newkirk bit off every word. Inside Cole bristled at the tone. _Careful. You did say he could speak freely. He's exhausted. His guards should be lower. Have to play this right._

"A file doesn't tell me about you," he admitted.

The Englishman gave an exasperated sigh. "Major, I'm ruddy tired, I'm 'alf sick from cleaning up scraps of bone and burned meat of what were me mates, and I just want to sleep." Cole tightened again.

"I'm sorry Hochstetter focused on you."

"So am I.'

"He made some comments to you about Colonel Hogan."

"And?"

Cole looked at him. _He doesn't seemed worried or even curious. _"Did he ask any more about it?"

"Some."

"Care to enlighten me?"

"Not really."

"Damn it Newkirk!"

Newkirk gave s sharp smile. "What do you want to know Major?"

"Is what he hinting at true?" _Please, play stupid again. Let me into that skull._

Newkirk gazed at him , mouth opening slightly. A grin curved his lips. "Right," he snorted, choking back laughter. "Colonel Hogan and I were shagging every chance we could. 'Onestly, Major, have you any idea what you're saying?!"

Inside, Cole sighed with relief. "I had to ask," he said.

"Now you know." Newkirk yawned. "Can I get some sleep?"

"I know we've had some rough times, " Cole started.

Newkirk shrugged. "You're an officer."

"I'm trying, Newkirk."

Newkirk glared at him, clearly frustrated. "Trying what? We aren't buddies, Major. Here's a thought. Just plan the missions and tell me what to do. That's all we need to know about each other."

"You don't like me."

Newkirk snorted. "Don't flatter yourself, mate. I don't bleedin' care about you, that's 'ardly the same thing. I'm here to do my job, beat the Krauts. I care about the missions. I'll do what's needed, don't worry about that."

Cole pushed down the rage swelling through him. "I need you to meet me halfway, Newkirk."

"Lost me, Major. Where are we supposed to rendezvous?"

"You have to give me a chance," Cole snapped.

Newkirk gazed at him as if baffled. "Major, I follow your orders. That's all you need from me. Now can I get some ruddy sleep?"

Cole nodded. "Sorry to disturb you. If Hochstetter's gone, we'll go out tomorrow night."

"Got it."

Cole left, shaking his head.

Newkirk watched him leave, rubbed his eyes again. _He can't say I lied, Rob. _


	17. Chapter 17

LeBeau pushed the cooler cell wall open and peeked inside. Newkirk rolled his head to the side and sighed as he spotted him. "What" he asked softly.

"I brought you some coffee." LeBeau stood up.

"LeBeau, it's 0300. Why aren't you asleep?"

"Why not you?"

"Well, a crazy Frenchman is in my cell."

LeBeau smiled slightly. "I could not sleep." he admitted. "Besides, I was making sure you were all right."

"Well, the answer to that is no but I appreciate your concern."

LeBeau sat on the cot as Newkirk sat up. Shadows ringed Newkirk's eyes and he smelled of delousing fluid still. Yet underneath it all, LeBeau swore he caught a whiff of char. "You look terrible."

"Feel terrible." Newkirk held out his hand for the vacuum flask of coffee. "What else is new?"

"What did they do, Pierre?"

Newkirk looked at him with hollow eyes. At first LeBeau thought he wouldn't answer or worse, would joke and send him off. Newkirk merely stared at his hands, however, sipping his coffee slowly. "I wouldn't burn them," he slowly said. "Said I couldn't. Against me religion, I claimed."

"You are not religious."

"Krauts don't know that. Anyway, we're in this large infirmary and the furnace is on the other side. Hochstetter drags me there, lets me see this big metal firepit. Hochstetter had his goon toss most the bodies in. He saved three, kept them in the infirmary. Sanders, Duncan, and the Colonel's." Newkirk turned the flask around in his hands. "Asked me again what I could tell him. When I said "not a bloody thing Major, I'm a POW," I'm hauled back into the lab. All three bodies are on tables, their wrappings have been cut away, and the doctor there starting sawing the bodies apart."

LeBeau stiffened, rage licking through him. _"Mon Dieu!_ Newkirk, what did you do?!"

"What could I do?" Newkirk snarled, head jerking. Yet, he didn't meet LeBeau's gaze. "I stood there like a bloody good soldier and watched! Hochstetter watched me, made some snotty comments. When they touched the Colonel, I lost me head a bit, shouted some obscenities. Hochstetter is bloody lucky he had his goons. Then he asked again what I'd do to get Hogan back, alive and healthy and..."

"What?"

LeBeau grabbed Newkirk's arm, ignoring the trembling. "Mon Colonel is alive?!"

Newkirk stared into LeBeau's eyes. "Louie, we wrapped the Colonel's body," he reminded. "No, he's dead."

"But if the Gestapo killed an impostor, he could be. Pierre, if he is alive..." Excitement poured through LeBeau like crackling lightning.

"He isn't!" Newkirk shoved LeBeau's hand off his arm. "Do you think I wouldn't have checked? He's dead, Louie. I know he's dead."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I saw the body! I checked it when the Gestapo first came here. I wrapped the Colonel. And when I was at Stalag 7, when I saw the corpses." Newkirk swallowed hastily. "It was the Colonel. Remember that scar he had on his shoulder? One from his plane being shot down?"

"_Oui."_

"The corpse had it." Newkirk gently touched LeBeau's shoulder. "He's gone, mate."

LeBeau felt the flames of excitement snuff out, as quickly as they'd been lit. "I know," he mumbled. "It was just a hope. Damn Hochstetter and his filthy lies!" He glanced at Newkirk. "They did not desecrate the Colonel." Newkirk stared at the wall. "Pierre, you did not allow them to touch him?" Again, silence. "He was your _amant_!"

"What would you have me do, Louie?" Newkirk's voice rose alarmingly. "I ruddy_ begged_ Hochstetter not to do it. He made me bleeding watch as they put the pieces into the fire one by one! And then I got to ruddy clean the crematorium after it cooled. If I hadn't, Hochstetter would have had his guards beat me to a pulp. They already got a few licks in." He rubbed his back.

"Why did not the Kommandant or the General stop them?'

"Some pretty frauliens distracted them," Newkirk snapped. "Bleedin' car full of them. The car broke down and Kommandant Hiese decided to help them out. Klink and Burkhalter were ruddy thrilled. They never even knew what was going on."

LeBeau bit his lip, controlled his temper. "I am sorry, mon ami."

"Thanks." Newkirk rubbed his eyes. "Better get, Louie. Old Schultz is prowling around."

"Did you tell Cole this?"

Newkirk shook his head. "Couldn't," he said slowly. "Not everything."

LeBeau laid a hand on Newkirk's shoulder. "Newkirk."

_"Don't."_ Newkirk inhaled, shrugged out from his hand. "Just **don't**. It wasn't him, just a bag of ruddy meat and LeBeau, I can't talk anymore. Please go." His voice quavered once and he looked at the floor.

LeBeau nodded and left, allowing his friend to grieve in private.

At morning roll call, LeBeau kept an eye on Carter. Carter coughed off and on and LeBeau knew Carter's so-called cold was coming back _I'm glad it's spring. Hopefully warm weather will get rid of this. _ After roll call, LeBeau gestured and Carter and Kinch follwed him. "How's Newkirk?" Carter asked. LeBeau glanced at him in surprise. "I heard you leave last night."

"_Pas bon_." Carter looked at Kinch who shrugged. LeBeau sighed. "Not good," he translated. Both men looked at him. "Hochstetter made him watch as the bodies were burned. And I think there was more but he did not tell me all." He swallowed hard. "The Boche, they cut up the bodies. Before they burned them."

"What?"

"They cut up the bodies." LeBeau really didn't like the rage in Kinch's eyes or Carter's clenching fists. "It was not Newkirk's fault."

"No one is blaming Newkirk," Kinch said with an exsperated tone. "Does Major Cole know?"

"Non. Newkirk did not tell him. He said he could not. I think he was too tired, too upset."

"Damn it." Kinch rubbed his head. "He needs to know."

LeBeau nodded. "I will tell him," he said.

Carter coughed once then looked around. "Did he say why?" he asked.

"Who knows why the Germans do anything?"

Klink stepped out of the office and the men looked up. Schultz scurried to Klink, then hurried towards the cooler. Newkirk and Schultz appeared a few minutes later. Cole ambled to Klink. The men eased their way towards him as well.

"What's going on, Kommandant?"

"I am releasing Corporal Newkirk early from the cooler."

"Why?"Cole asked suspiciously.

"I was wondering that myself," Newkirk said. "Not that I'm complaining, mind you."

"Because I feel good today. All is forgiven, Newkirk. Major Cole, the camp needs cleaning."

"Right, Kommandant. We'll get on that."

"Since the cemetery is gone, perhaps you can plant some flowers."

"Sure," Cole said slowly. LeBeau saw Newkirk's face go blank and he wandered over, nudging his shoulder. Newkirk grinned, a smile that didn't touch his eyes, and then looked worried as Carter coughed. Everyone glanced at Carter.

"I'm fine, geez," Carter snapped. "Layoff, guys."

"We didn't say anything," Kinch said.

"Let's get the cleaning done." He glanced around. "We go out tonight."


	18. Chapter 18

_One month later:_

Carter stared at his lab equipment blankly then coughed. A mug suddenly appeared beside him and he glanced over. Kinch stood beside him. "I can hear you," Kinch said. "Drink something."

"Stupid cold."

"We need to get you to a doctor, Carter. That's not a cold."

"Wilson said I'd be fine once spring finally gets here."

"Carter, the weather has been warming up. There's something wrong."

"I'm fine," Carter said. "Besides, no one rides Newkirk about his ankle."

"Because it's healed." Carter frowned but didn't reply. "Is there something I should know?"

"Kinch, do you think people can die of broken hearts?"

Kinch shook his head. "Literally, no. If this is about what I think it's about, let it go. Newkirk is fine. It's been five months."

"You know he's not fine."

"So what's wrong with him?"

Carter bit his lip. "I think he wants to die."

Kinch blinked. "What?" He stared at Carter with wide eyes. "Newkirk may be crazy, Andrew, but he's not insane."

"I don't know, Kinch. He just has something missing. Look, he volunteers for every mission. Heck, he even refuses to fight with Cole anymore." Carter coughed into his handkerchief.

Kinch nodded. "I thought it was awfully quiet."

"He didn't even fuss when Cole assigned Rolston to work with him and you know he hates Rolston."

"True." Kinch rubbed his neck. "Look. let's talk to him tomorrow."

When the men rushed in, however, Kinch and Carter didn't ask anything. Major Cole looked furious and frantic awhile LeBeau and Newkirk were stone silent. Rolston looked terrified. "Kinch, contact the Underground and London. Tell them we may be compromised and to stand by."

"Yes, sir." Kinch gave LeBeau a look and began sending radio messages. Carter stared at Major Cole.

"What happened?"

"Ask Rolston," LeBeau bitterly said. "Imbecile."

"Enough, LeBeau," Cole said tiredly.

Carter looked at Rolston. "I slipped up," Rolston muttered.

"How?"

"He used Newkirk's name," LeBeau spat. "We were in town and he used Newkirk's name!"

"I didn't mean to," Rolston said.

"I'll remember that when Hochstetter and his merry men are playing with me," Newkirk snapped.

"Calm down," Cole ordered. "No one may have picked up on it."

"You're bloody joking, right?" Newkirk asked. "I say we 'ave about an hour if that."

"He's right, Major," Kinch said. "There's a good chance Hochstetter will find out."

"Carter, check the explosives. Rolston, notify each barracks chief that we may have to leave in a hurry."

"Yes, sir." Rolston raced off. Newkirk snorted.

"You know it's not blooming possible, right? There's no way we can evacuate this camp in time."

"There's a chance," Cole said. "If the Gestapo come--and I think that's a big if--I don't intend to hand the men over to them."

"And how are we going to protect them?" Newkirk cocked an eyebrow. "Even if we all somehow miraculously got into the woods, we 'aven't the coordination of resources for all of us."

"We'll figure something out." At Newkirk's sour expression, Cole's jaw tightened. "And what should we do, Corporal? Sacrifice some men so the rest get out somehow?"

Newkirk stared at him with a surprised look, a kind of_ You don't know?_ "No, sir," he said bitingly. "Not some men."

"Then what?"

"You're the officer and leader, mate, not me."

"Just remember that."

Cole gestured to Carter. "Come on Carter, I'll help you."

When alone, Kinch and LeBeau both looked at Newkirk. "What?" the Englishman asked irritably.

"Do you have a plan?" leBeau asked.

"No. Miracles are not in my job description."

"They're not in Cole's either," Kinch said.

"I didn't say they were."

"But you want them to be," LeBeau said.

"It'd be nice."

"Do you really expect him to sacrifice himself?" Kinch asked.

"What do you mean?" LeBeau glanced at both Newkirk and Kinch.

"He is the leader, mate. That's his job." Newkirk lit a cigarette, his hand quivering slightly.

"Look, maybe nothing will happen," LeBeau said.

"Newkirk isn't ruddy German, LeBeau." Newkirk blew smoke towards the ceiling. "I better go keep lookout." He headed up and LeBeau glanced at Kinch.

"Do you think Major Cole will? Sacrifice himself?"

"Newkirk's right in that it's his job. He is the Senior POW and the leader."

"And?"

Kinch looked at his friend. "Would you willingly hand yourself over to the Gestapo?"

"For France."

"This isn't France, Louis."

"No, it is not," LeBeau agreed. He rubbed his head. "Stupid Rolston. And stupid Cole for selecting him."

"Carter couldn't go."

"I know that." LeBeau glared. "But Rolston is green, foolish. His German is poor. And to call Newkirk by his name? How else can you describe it?"

"You have a point." Kinch glanced at his radio. "What did Newkirk do?"

"Ignored him."

"Good. Maybe Cole is right and no one noticed."

LeBeau looked steadily at Kinch. "You are not that foolish, Kinch."

"I can hope. Newkirk's right, we can't get everyone out in time." He tapped LeBeau's shoulder. "It's all right, LeBeau, we've gotten out of worse. Get some sleep."

LeBeau managed a smile and left.

To everyone's surprise and relief, the Gestapo did not arrive within the hour.

They arrived late in the morning.

Newkirk and Carter looked at the black car and the radio truck. Carter swore he saw Newkirk tremble slightly, eyes widen just a whisker. Then Newkirk shrugged and nudged him. "Let's go hear what ol' Hochstetter wants." They walked into the barracks.

Cole, Kinch and LeBeau looked up. "Gestapo, " Carter said. "With a radio truck and Hochstetter."

"Damn," Cole said. Then he looked up as Schultz opened the door.

"Major Cole, the Kommandant and Major Hochstetter wanted you and Corporal Newkirk in the office immediately."

"Why Newkirk?"

"Because Major Hochstetter said so. Now raus!"

Cole nodded and led the way, Newkirk following slowly. Inside the office, Newkirk stopped short, staring at the stranger next to Hochstetter. "Colonel Hogan?" he blurted.

The smile wasn't quite the same and Newkirk grabbed his wandering emotions and squelched them tight. "Hello, Corporal," the black haired man said.

"Major Hochstetter is returning Colonel Hogan to us," Klink said.

Major Cole held out his hand. "An honor Colonel."

They shook hands. "Thank you, Major Cole. I know you have been taking good care of my men." Dark eyes flicked back to Newkirk.

Newkirk's heart sank further. He scanned the man quickly, ignoring the screams of _He's alive!!_ that kept ringing in his head. Same brown eyes, same lip curvature. But the eyes bore a slightly different cast and his bearing was weird. 100 tiny differences that all said this was not Hogan, not Rob. Newkirk sighed.

"Not a bad try, Major Hochstetter. But anyone can see this isn't Colonel Hogan."

"It _is_ Colonel Hogan, Corporal." Klink looked confused at Newkirk's reluctance to believe.

Major Cole looked at Newkirk who shook his head. "It's not," Newkirk said. "'E looks like him but I saw the body of the real Colonel Hogan."

"I assure you, Corporal Newkirk, it is I."

Newkirk shook his head. "No."

"And how would you know?" Hochstetter demanded.

"I ruddy lived with the Colonel for over two years," Newkirk snapped. "I know him."

Major Hochstetter stepped up to Newkirk and stared at him. ""You are clever, Corporal."

"I try," Newkirk replied.

"Let's see just how clever you can be. Klink, I'm taking this prisoner."

"Why?" Klink asked.

"You can't," Cole snapped. "The Geneva Convention..."

"Does not apply to spies, Major Cole. His name was overheard in a local drinking house last night."

"Newkirk has distant cousins," Cole said.

"He's right," Newkirk said. "Fourth cousin. They've been over 'ere a little while."

"See?" Cole said. "No one meant this Newkirk."

"I'm taking him, Major. Keep arguing and I will take all of Barracks Two with me and burn the rest to the ground."

"We have been meaning to redecorate," Cole joked.

"With the men still in them."

Cole froze. Newkirk shot him a desperate look. _Don't leave me hanging here, mate! He can't take me! I'm ruddy allergic to pain. Come on, volunteer to go in my place at least!_

"I'll have to file a protest with the Red Cross," Cole threatened.

"You do that, Major." Hochstetter gestured and a guard shoved Newkirk.

"Major?" Newkirk said, staring at Cole. _This can't be happening!_

"Major Hochstetter, Newkirk was here all night," Cole said.

"Then he has nothing to worry about."

Newkirk hung back as best he could, literally falling as they neared Hochstetter's car. As they shoved him in the car, he shot a last look to Major Cole. _Save me, dammit!_

FIVE DAYS LATER

Kinch huddled by the silent radio, feeling his insides knot. At the echo of footsteps, he looked up, hoping it was LeBeau or Carter. His mouth dried instantly. A grey garbed Gestapo Standartenführer (Colonel) stalked towards him and Kinch's heart seemed to stop. _How'd he get in here?! Oh, God, Newkirk talked. We are all dead men. _"Sergeant Kinchloe, where is Major Cole?" a crisp voice demanded as the Colonel pulled off his gloves and removed his glasses. Kinch couldn't help the whimper that rose in his throat. At the noise, the Colonel stopped and eyed him oddly. "Sergeant, is there a problem?"

Kinch stared at the Colonel. "Sir," he rasped, glancing frantically around. _Maybe we can shoot him quickly._

"Are you quite all right?"

_I am at the moment. I mean, all my limbs are still attached._ "Fine, Colonel."

The Gestapo man looked at him in what seemed like concern. "Then could you get Major Cole please?"

Kinch nodded mutely then looked at the man again. Those eyes looked vaguely familiar..."May I have your name, sir?" he dared.

Brown eyes widened in shock. "Oh, bullocks. I am sorry, Sergeant!"

At the British accent, Kinch's heart seemed to restart. He studied the man closely then took a guess. "Please forgive me if I'm wrong, sir. Umm, Group Captain Wellston?"

A sharp laugh. "Excellent eyes, Sergeant."

Kinch sagged against the radio table. "With all due respect, sir, would you care to announce yourself next time?"

Wellston smiled ruefully. "Dreadfully sorry, old chap. Sometimes I forget I wear this." He gestured to the uniform.

"Why are you here?" Kinch asked. Wellston's face smoothed into a blank mask.

"To talk to the Major."

"And the uniform, sir?"

"Later if you don't mind, Sergeant."

"Yes, sir." Kinch hurried off. _What's going on? _

Major Cole followed Kinch, hearing Carter and LeBeau trail behind them. When he spotted the dreaded Gestapo uniform, he slowed. He heard LeBeau stop and Carter gasp faintly. Kinch looked mildly amused. The Colonel looked at Cole coldly. "Major Cole."

"Ah, Colonel..."

"Group Captain Wellston."

"Nice get up. Looks real."

"It is." Group Captain Wellston eyed him. "Standartenführer Wilhelm Schuberg."

Cole inhaled. "You're Gestapo."

"I told you you weren't the only spies in Germany."

"So who do you really work for?"

Wellston gave an irritated huff. "The Allies, Major." He looked at the gathered men. "Come with me, Major Cole."

Major Cole eyed Wellston with misgiving. Behind him, Carter coughed, a harsh hacking bark that made Wellston turn to him. He stepped forward past Cole, laid a hand on Carter's shoulder as he coughed. "How long have you been coughing like this?"

"Just a cold, sir. It comes and goes." Carter smiled wanly.

"How long?"

Carter shrugged. "Couple months." Wellston's lips thinned and he looked closely at Carter. Then he studied LeBeau and Kinch. With one quick movement, he'd whirled and was walking down the hallway. "**Now**, Major."

Major Cole walked after the Group Captain. After rounding a few curves, the Englishman turned to face Major Cole, face terrible to see. "Five days, Major. You left one of your men in Gestapo hands for five days!"

"I didn't leave anyone! Hochstetter came and got him."

"After another man of yours mentioned his name in a bar. Why didn't you contact London or the Underground?"

"We did! I notified them before Newkirk was taken that we might have been compromised."

"And Newkirk? What plans have you worked on for him?"

"Hochstetter's radio truck has been here as well as beefed up guards in the woods."

"Are you saying none of your contacts could help you? No one has come here? The dog trainer, the fruit seller?"

"I am working on it!"

"You run one of the most critical units in this war and you risked letting your man fall into Gestapo hands. A man with knowledge of Underground members, radio codes, and this operation. Not only that, it appears that you had no real plan to rescue him."

"I'm a POW, Group Captain."

"You could have contacted the Underground."

"I didn't want to risk that."

"You risked far more letting Newkirk stay with the Gestapo!"

"I'm doing what I can!"

Wellston's eyes flashed. "Why didn't you take his place?"

"What?"

"You did volunteer to take his place, right?"

"Hochstetter wanted him."

"Who slipped up with Newkirk's name?"

"Why does it matter?"

"I want to know."

"Rolston."

"And he was along why?"

"Because Carter's cold was too bad."

"That's not a cold. I'd bet my boots the Sergeant has an upper respiratory infection of some kind. He needs some medicine."

"Wilson is caring for him."

"Wilson is a medic, Major Cole. Did you even think of looking for a doctor?!"

"They don't grow on trees, Group Captain!"

"I meant on the radio! The symptoms could be relayed to a doctor in London and he would decipher them. "

Cole sighed. "It goes away."

"Major, when I said take care of these men, I meant take care of them, not use and abuse them!"

"Look, just focus on Newkirk!"

"I have Newkirk!"

Cole stared at him. "You what?"

"I have Newkirk," Wellston repeated. "He's at a doctor's house, being cared for as well as anyone can be."

"How?" Cole stammered.

"I am Gestapo, Major. I simply ordered him to my car and took him to a surgeon I know. The doctor thinks he is fixing Newkirk for further questioning."

"How is he?"

Wellston's face hardened. "Frankly, Major, the kindest thing I could have done for Newkirk was put a bullet in his head. But before I shot him, he opened his eye and asked to see his friends. I couldn't refuse him."

Major Cole gazed at Wellston for a long moment. "He's that bad?"

"Of course. Did you think the Gestapo would coddle him?"

"Will he make it?"

"Most likely not. As I said, the kindest thing I could have done was shoot him. It still may be."

"No!"

LeBeau rushed forward, grabbed Wellston's arm. "You can not kill Pierre!"

Wellston sighed. "Did all of you hear everything?' he asked kindly.

"Afraid so," Kinch said as he came from around a corner, Carter at his heels.

"Newkirk is strong, he can heal anything," Carter earnestly said.

Wellston looked troubled. "I wanted you to see him just in case. I don't promise anything. He's a mess and pretty unresponsive. Not quite a coma but like it. Don't expect him to talk."

The men all exchanged looks. "When can we go?" LeBeau asked.

"I have a plan. I will return him here tomorrow with the doctor, settle him in the infirmary." He glanced at the men. "Again, please don't take what I said as being upset with Newkirk or being cold. Believe me, death can be very kind in some cases." He pulled his gloves back on, slipped on his glasses. "Until then, gentlemen. Major Cole, we will be talking later." He straightened his jacket and left, squeezing Carter on the shoulder and murmuring something to him as he went by.


	19. Chapter 19

The next day, the men waited. A long grey car pulled in, unmarred by flags. Behind it was a small enclosed medical truck. Wellston stepped out, again wearing the grey uniform of the Gestapo. He grasped Klink by the arm. Plain clothed men unloaded a stretcher and headed for the infirmary. Cole glanced at his men, all watching the stretcher.

It seemed an eternity before they were allowed in. Wellston stood by Klink, eyes stony as he looked at them. "This is Major Cole and his command crew," Klink introduced. "Major Cole, this is Standartenführer Wilhelm Schuberg of the Gestapo. A Colonel to you."

"Sir. I see you brought back my man."

"I brought back what waste was cluttering my cell." Wellston stared at all the men. "You, Major, and your men will be the only prisoners allowed to see Corporal Newkirk. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir," Cole said, stepping on LeBeau's foot as the Frenchman bristled.

"He will most likely expire but if he survives, I may call for him again."

Klink twitched. "And Major Hochstetter?"

"Do not worry about Major Hochstetter. Gestapo HQ has other plans for him after he recovers."

"Recovers?" Klink echoed.

"He got too close to a prisoner who bit him. He may lose his hand."

"From a bite?"

"Do you have any understanding of the filth in the mouths of these vermin, Kommandant?" Wellston pulled on his gloves. "I am leaving nurses to care for the corporal and the doctor will visit daily. I am removing the radio truck and the extra guards."

"Of course," Klink said.

"Call my office if he dies, Klink." He looked at the men again. "_Gutentag_, Kommandant. Heil Hitler."

Cole watched him leave, knees shaking. _What the hell? Double agent? What is he playing at?_

LeBeau brushed past him, bent over Newkirk. Lank black hair flopped over a white bandage that encircled his head and covered his left eye. Another thick bandage swaddled his left arm and bruises splotched his exposed skin freely. "Newkirk," LeBeau whispered. "Pierre, _mon ami_. I am so sorry." Newkirk didn't move, not even when LeBeau gingerly touched his shoulder.

Carter and Kinch stepped over. "Holy cats," Carter whispered. His fingers brushed Newkirk's cheek. "Hey, buddy, you don't look so bad." Kinch merely squeezed Newkirk's dangling hand.

"How bad is he?" Cole asked Klink.

"You can ask Frau Bronner." Klink nodded to a sturdy woman who bustled around the infirmary efficently. "Frau Bronner, this is Major Cole. He wishes to ask about the man." When she stared at him blankly, he repeated himself in German.

_"Ich spreche kein Englisch." _"I do not speak English."

_"Einer meiner Wachen zu übersetzen, wenn ich Wie bin nicht hier. Schwerverletzten ist der Gefreite?" _"One of my guards will translate if I am not here. How badly injured is the Corporal?"

_"Er lebt, Herr Kommandant. Der Arzt tat, was er konnte." _"He is alive, Herr Kommandant. The doctor did what he could."

_"Was Verletzungen hat er?" _"What injuries does he have?'

_"Blaue Flecken, ein gebrochener Arm, Knie verletzt. Sein Blick ist beschädigt, ein paar gebrochenen Rippen, _

_einige brennt in verstreuten Orten. " _"Bruises, a broken arm, injured knee. His eye is damaged, a few cracked ribs, some burns in scattered places."

Cole waited patiently as Klink translated. When he looked at Newkirk, he couldn't prevent a quick inhale. Gently he touched Newkirk's shoulder, a wave of guilt and rage coursing through him. _Bastards! Part of this is my fault. I should have tried harder. Even with the radio truck and guards. At least he looks like hell but not so bad he'll die. _

"I'll stay with him," LeBeau volunteered. "First watch, I mean."

"He has nurses," Klink said.

"He needs to eat," Cole said. "LeBeau can bring it to him."

"All right. Not long, LeBeau. He needs rest."

"Oui, Kommandant."

LeBeau hurried back to the barracks where he hastily made some broth. Carter sneezed and looked at him. "He looks horrible."

"We will fix him, Carter."

"I hope so. Boy, Group Captain Wellston was weird."

"He is playing the part of a Gestapo Colonel. He can not be nice."

"I guess." Carter poured a cup of coffee. "You don't think he is Gestapo, do you?"

"Non. He brought back Newkirk to us."

"Yeah but what if..."

"What if what?' LeBeau stirred the broth. "We could all be in Boche hands if he was truly Gestapo. Why would he wait?"

Carter looked at LeBeau. "He said he would have shot Newkirk."

"I know. Pierre has been tortured, Andre. Perhaps he thought he could not survive."

"I guess." Carter sipped his coffee. "Can he, Louis? Survive, I mean."

LeBeau looked into his friend's troubled eyes. "I do not know," he honestly said. "He is very hurt. And the fact he did not even stir when we talked to him bothers me. We will do the best we can." He covered the pot. "I will see if he can drink this."

In the infirmary, LeBeau carefully spooned broth into Newkirk's mouth. The Englishman swallowed reflexively but didn't respond to LeBeau's quiet chatter. After about a cup, LeBeau stopped. "I do not know how much you can drink," he said softly. "But it is a good start." He set the pot aside. "I will just sit here then. You are not alone." He patted Newkirk's hand and for an instant felt the fingers grab at his.

"Rob..." came a faint mumble.

LeBeau blinked then gently squeezed Newkirk's fingers. "_Non, mon ami, pas Rob_. Louis. I know you miss him but please do not call for him again," he whispered. "The Boche will not understand." _Or they will and you will be gutted by morning. _

He stayed awhile longer, ignoring the passage of time until Kinch relieved him. "Anything?" Kinch asked lowly.

"He asked for his twin brother, Rob." LeBeau's gaze flicked to the nurse nearby. Kinch nodded in comprehension.

"Go rest, LeBeau. I'll be here a bit."

"I am all right."

"Go on. It will be a long night, I think."

LeBeau reluctantly left. The men of Barracks Two swarmed him as he entered, all asking questions at once. "Enough," Major Cole ordered and the din silenced. "How is he, LeBeau?"

"The same. He does not speak, he does not wake. I fed him some broth and that is something."

"Damn. I'd like him coherent."

"I am sure he would like that too, Major Cole." LeBeau ignored his CO's glare. "He is very weak."

"Who wouldn't be?" Parks asked.

"Hey, is Schultz right? Does he really have two broken legs?" Olson demanded.

"He has a broken arm, an injured knee." Cole frowned at Olson. "LeBeau, you and Carter straighten the downstairs. I have a feeling we'll have visitors tonight."

Carter and LeBeau headed into the tunnel. LeBeau glanced around. "Is he really ok?" Carter asked.

"Non. He did drink. He is as Wellston said."

"Maybe he just needs rest." Carter coughed.

"You sound horrible, Sergeant."

Carter and LeBeau turned. Group Captain Wellston, clad in civilian garb, strode towards them, carrying an attache case. "Good evening," he said.

"Good evening," LeBeau said. Carter smiled hestiantly.

"I have medicine for you," Wellston said. "It was difficult to get but London came through." He opened his case and withdrew a syringe. "Roll up your sleeve, Sergeant."

"What is it?" Carter asked.

"Pencillin," Wellston said. "I'm hoping it'll work on that so-called cold of yours."

"OK." Carter rolled up his sleeve and Wellston swabbed a spot with alcohol then injected him quickly. "Sir, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Are you really Gestapo? I mean, not just playing one."

"Carter!"

"It's a fair question, Corporal," Wellston said to LeBeau. "I am, indeed, in the Gestapo. I have been since 1939. How it happened and how I got there, well, that is classified. But trust me, Sergeant, I am loyal to England and the Allies.'

"You are German?" LeBeau inquired.

"English. How is Corporal Newkirk?"

"He drank some broth," LeBeau said.

"That is an achievement. Is Major Cole around?"

"He'll be down later," Carter said. "After lights out."

"Did either of you see a man dressed like Colonel Hogan? Before Newkirk was taken?" Wellston asked.

"Sure," Carter said. "I mean, Major Hochstetter brought him over but Major Cole had already told us it wasn't Colonel Hogan."

"He looked like the Colonel," LeBeau sniffed. "But he was not. We could tell."

"Easy," Carter agreed.

"How could you tell?" Wellston asked.

"He spoke funny," Carter said. "Formal."

"And while he looked like mon colonel, he didn't act like him," LeBeau added. "He was--how you say, stiff."

Wellston nodded. "All right. Thank you." He stared thoughtfully down the tunnel.

"What exactly is wrong with Newkirk?" Carter asked. "I mean, he was tortured but how can we fix him?"

"You can't fix him, Sergeant. If Newkirk lives, then it is up to him to fix himself. Support him but realize this is his battle."

"LeBeau?" came Kinch's voice. "Carter?"

"We are here, Kinch," LeBeau called back.

Kinch came around the corner. "Supper, guys. Oh, hello, Group Captain."

"Sergeant Kinchloe. Good evening."

"Kinch is fine, sir."

"Thank you."

"Who is with Newkirk?" LeBeau asked.

"The nurses. Cleaning the wounds." Kinch glanced at Wellston. "We can bring you some food, sir."

"Thank you but that's unnecessary. I will talk to Major Cole and head out again. You'll see a lot of me. At least until Newkirk recovers or passes on."

"He'll survive," LeBeau said.

"I hope so. I'm amazed he hung on this long. If you could contact London tonight, Sergeant, I'd be grateful. I have messages to send."

"Yes, sir."

Group Captain Wellston waited patiently. When Major Cole joined him, he nodded amiably but he sensed Major Cole wasn't buying it. "Evening, Group Captain. Or is it Colonel Schuberg?"

"You can contact London if you distrust me, Major. I certainly have reports to deliver."

"About my errors, I suppose."

"About problems," Wellston corrected. "Major, you are a capable leader. I don't believe, however, that you're cut out to lead a sabotage unit. Not this one, at least."

"I was working on a plan for Newkirk."

Major, within three minutes, I gave you several ideas of what you could have done. That was off the top of my head. Five days, Major."

Major Cole's jaw muscles jerked. "How close were you to Colonel Hogan?"

"I told you, we were friends."

"I've just come back from seeing Newkirk."

"And?"

"He talks a bit. Calls out the name Rob."

"I know."

Major Cole blinked. "You _know_?"

"I spent time with Newkirk after the surgery. So he talks to Rob a bit. And?" Wellston poured a cup of coffee.

"There are rumors, suggestions about Colonel Hogan and Newkirk."

"Really?" Wellston cocked an eyebrow as he drank his coffee. "About what?"

"About them being close."

Wellston blinked this time. "Are you talking sex?" Cole gave a quick nod. "And?"

Cole stared. "Two men having sex," he slowly said.

"How long have you been in the military, Major?" Wellston snorted. "If it happened, it happened. They're POWs in a war zone. Men have needs."

"He was Newkirk's CO!"

"So?"

"We don't allow perverts in our military, Group Captain!"

Wellston gave a quick, barking laugh. "You can't be serious! Are you worried about two men having a go when there's a war going on?"

"It's wrong. It's god damn perverted!"

"Enough, Major!"

"It's against all the rules!"

Wellston slammed down his coffee cup on the small table, coffee sloshing over the mug's edge and his hand. "Don't you dare tell me about rules! I deal with men who've trained German Shepherds to rape women, read reports of officers 'purifying' women with red hot pokers and castrating men outright. I've watched men violate little girls no older than six and force people to dig their own graves before shoot them in the head! I've seen interrogations that deal with bottles up peoples' asses! Do you think I give a damn about two men having a quick shag now and then? It's not like there are women here, not as if all the German women they meet are dropping their knickers for them!" Cole flushed and Wellston breathed deep. "Major, do you honestly think none of your men here are getting together? It'll pass when they get home. People get lonely."

"I wouldn't involve myself with a subordinate."

"Perhaps when you've been locked up as long as Colonel Hogan, you'll change your mind. By the way, I wouldn't report your suspicions. Colonel Hogan was an excellent leader and is highly thought of. Besides, he never lacked for women."

"And Corporal Newkirk?"

"Major, I read the Gestapo file on Newkirk. I know exactly what they did to him. Believe me, I think more highly of him now than I did before. And I was impressed then."

"Why?"

Wellston wiped up the spilled coffee with a handkerchief, not answering for a moment. "He didn't give up anything vital," he said softly. "He made up stories, withstood things."

"Like what?"

Wellston gazed at Major Cole. "More than you know. The rest is his story and up to him to share or not. If he lives."


	20. Chapter 20

Carter sat beside Newkirk, gingerly patting his cheek. "Come on, buddy," he said. "You've got to come back to us. We need you. Jenkins is trying, sure, but he can't pickpocket like you and anyway, I'm sure LeBeau would like you to eat something besides soup. We already lost Colonel Hogan. LeBeau is already thinking of leaving if you die and who will help me with my makeup when I have to act again?"

Newkirk's lips moved slightly. "You sound like Carter a bit," he mumbled.

Carter frowned. Newkirk had spoken little, just fragments of odd conversations he seemed to be having with Colonel Hogan. "I still can't believe you called him Rob," Carter whispered. Newkirk merely laid there. His head bandage was much smaller now, still covering the eye but less of the cheek. Carter touched what looked like the edge of a wound. The past seven days had been lessons in slow drudgery. The nurses and doctor cared for Newkirk's injuries but Carter wanted something from Newkirk. He glanced at his watch. 0300. He better sneak back to the barracks soon.

"Any better?"

Carter turned to face Group Captain Wellston, dressed in black pants and shirt. The Group Captain had come often as his Gestapo counterpart and the men were getting used to him popping in the tunnels. "Hello, sir. No, no real change."

Wellston came forward, turned Newkirk's face to the dim light. "Damn. I thought that eye might be saved."

Carter jerked. "Sir?"

Wellston sighed. "It means I think he'll be blind in that eye. I had hoped I'd gotten him to Doctor Schiff in time."

"Blind?"

"In one eye," Wellston said. "He's breathing, Carter, and that's a real miracle."

"But he's not here."

"He still talking to ghosts?"

Carter nodded. "I just don't understand why."

Wellston sat down next to Carter. "His mind is broke, Carter," he gently said. "I've seen it before. He's retreated from the real world because he was tortured."

"He can talk."

"He doesn't see us," Wellston said. "He's not here. He's wherever is a better place for him is. This is how he deals with his pain."

"So when does it end?"

Wellston looked very old. "Too often, never." He bushed Newkirk's hair off his face. "I wish Colonel Hogan were still alive. Perhaps he could have called Newkirk back."

"So he could heal all his injuries and still be insane." Wellston nodded. "There's got to be a way, sir!"

"I'm not a psychiatrist. Carter. I'm sure there are ways, I just don't know them. Anyway, you should get some sleep. I'll stay up with Newkirk."

"Sir, if the Krauts find you..."

"I'll tell Klink his guards need training." Wellston looked at him. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, sir. No cold, no cough." Carter looked at Newkirk again. "Can we bring in a psychiatrist?"

Wellston looked at him then shook his head. Carter grabbed Newkirk's fingers as he twisted suddenly and Newkirk flinched slightly. "He does react some," Wellston said.

"I know." Carter stood up. "Good night, sir."

"Good night, Sergeant." Wellston watched him leave then looked back at Newkirk. "Perhaps I should have shot you after all," he murmured. "At least you could be at peace."

Carter mused all that day. LeBeau and Kinch asked what was bothering him but when he explained he was thinking of ways to help Newkirk, they left him alone. That evening after dinner, he hurried into the tunnels. There he quickly opened a small trunk and shoved stuff in a bag. Then he went to find LeBeau. "I need your help."

"With what?"

"I think I can wake Newkirk. It's weird but it might just work."

LeBeau nodded. "What do you want me to do?"

"Be my lookout. No one can disturb us."

In the infirmary, Newkirk seemed just as before. Carter made sure LeBeau was looking out and opened his bag. "I don't know if this will wake you up," he whispered. "But I sure hope so. Just remember, we're friends."

Newkirk dreamed.

There were feelings of peace and contentment, of happiness and never spoken of love. Bits and fragments of good times and warm cuddling. Long walks to nowhere. And Rob was there always, a sly wink, arm over his shoulder, broiling kisses in the shadows.

Rob tossed him an apple and he bit deep. He had to admit, he was enjoying this. They so rarely got any time together. Newkirk grinned as Rob carefully peeled an orange. "You're being a bit fussy, luv."

Rob chuckled. "Luv? Haven't heard that one before."

Newkirk felt his cheeks heat. "Sorry."

"I think it's sexy." He smiled. "Enjoy it while we can, Peter."

"Before the ruddy war interferes, you mean?"

"As LeBeau would say, oui."

Newkirk watched Rob eat quickly but neatly. He knew he was completely besotted with his lover--the cheeky American flyer had first won his sympathy with his tortured mind, body, and soul when he'd been assigned to Stalag 13. After Hogan began assembling the resistance unit, the daft officer had won his awe. Over time, suspicions had faded and begrudging respect had become willing loyalty and dedication entwined with bittersweet, unrequited love. When Hogan had actually returned his affections, he gave him every part of his prickly, distrustful heart. That information Newkirk wanted to keep to himself.

"You're thinking too hard."

"Usually you'd say I don't think enough."

"Relax, will you?"

"Easy for you to say, mate. It's not you who'll be facing charges of seducing an officer," Newkirk teased.

"No, just corrupting an enlisted man." Hogan pulled him close. "We're fine." Newkirk rested his head on Rob's shoulder, breathed in the scent of aftershave and leather. "We should talk while we can."

"No one stopping you, Rob."

"Peter, if I don't make it...."

"Thought we discussed this already," Newkirk interrupted, a bit angrily. ""You don't get to die, mate."

"Peter, I'm just saying, just in case. I fully expect to be stateside being the envy of everyone with my British aide." He smiled. "But if I don't make it..."

"Don't." Newkirk felt panic and terror wrap around his chest. "Rob, don't."

"I want you to keep going. The others need you."

"Don't start this."

Hogan's fingers grasped his cheeks. "Peter. please. They'll need you."

"I need you," Newkirk hated that his voice shook. Or that it held so much emotion.

"There's things you have to do. I promise, I'll be waiting."

"You can't promise that. There's nothing after death, Rob. No ruddy heaven or angels."

"I'll wait. You have my word."

"No. Don't talk like this. It's just daft."

"Peter, it's important to me. There's something you'll have to do that only you can do."

"Like what? Like I'm that bleedin' special?"

"Trust me." Rob pulled him close. "Please."

"Rob, damn it..."

"Peter, please. For once, trust me."

"I trust you with everything, mate."

"Then do it again."

Newkirk rubbed frantically at his eyes, pulled Rob tight. Hogan returned his bone crushing hug, kissed him deeply. "Don't you dare go," Newkirk growled.

"Trust me, love."

Newkirk kissed him again, drank in every part of him. Rob held him close.

PAIN.

Flames licked along his veins and he screamed. A part of him noted the ceiling had changed and there was a bed. "Newkirk, stop!" came a yell. Newkirk ignored it, twisted to escape the agony racing through him. He screamed again. And again.

LeBeau pressed hard on Newkirk's shoulders. "Now what?" he yelled at Carter.

"Why are you asking me? He's awake!"

"Get Wilson! And get out of that coat before someone sees you."

Carter skinned out of Colonel Hogan's leather jacket, pulled on his own as Schultz hurried in. "What is all this racket?"

"Get Wilson!" both men yelled.

Schultz hurried off as Carter grimly held onto Newkirk. "Stop it, Newkirk. Come on, buddy. You'll tear off your bandages."

To his amazement, Newkirk stilled and his screams halted. He gasped in long drawn out breaths, sweat slicking his skin. "Pierre?" LeBeau asked.

"Tell me you're not 'ere too, mate."

"You are back at Stalag 13," LeBeau said.

"And the Colonel?" Newkirk twisted and looked at LeBeau. "'E's here, too, right?" He spoke in short, quick pants, obviously in distress. LeBeau looked at Carter then the floor.

"Pierre, Colonel Hogan is..."

"Don't say it, Louie. I don't want to hear it again." He shuddered violently. "I remember now." He twisted and cried out again. Another minor squirm and he began screaming again, clawing at his face.

"No," Carter yelled, pinning his arms. "Wilson's coming."

Wilson raced in."Hell!" He pulled a bottle from his bag. "What's he had?"

"What?"

"Painkillers. What has he had? Never mind!" Wilson swiftly injected Newkirk. The screaming faded and Wilson shook his head. "Well. I wanted to see him. God, he looks like hell."

"At least he's awake." Carter patted Newkirk's shoulder. "I mean, with us."

"What did you give him?" LeBeau asked.

"Morphine. He needs a doctor." Wilson looked at Schultz.

"The doctor will be here in the morning."

"I don't know if he can last that long." Wilson said, checking Newkirk's pulse.

"What's wrong?" LeBeau asked.

"He's a mess."

"What can the doctor do?" Carter asked.

"He can give me an idea of what's happened to him. Does anyone know what was done?"

"He has burns, broken arm, injured knee, injured eye. Lots of bruises," Carter said.

"All right. If everything is already cleaned and wrapped, the best any of us can do is give him painkillers and talk to him." Wilson patted Newkirk's arm. "He'll be out for a few hours."

"Then you must leave," Schultz said. "The Gestapo have ordered only Major Cole, LeBeau, Carter, and Kinch can see Newkirk."

"And why is that?" Wilson snapped.

"Ask the Gestapo!"

"Just leave some painkillers, Joe, and we'll talk care of him," Carter said. Wilson grudgingly agreed. LeBeau yawned. "I can stay with him, LeBeau."

"Non. I will wait as well." Schultz and Wilson left and LeBeau looked at Carter. "What you did was the kindest thing I have ever seen."

Carter blushed from his hair to his neck. "I, um, well you know I'm not," he stumbled. LeBeau grinned. "Dang it, LeBeau, you know I'm not like that."

"Oui, I know. It was still a sweet thing to do. You brought him back."

"I'm just glad it worked."

They both fell silent. When Newkirk stirred, LeBeau carefully helped him sip some water, then gave him a pill. Newkirk blinked and nodded. "Thanks," he rasped.

"Glad you're back," Carter said. Newkirk looked at him.

"Help me sit up," he said. In a few minutes, Newkirk was sitting up, looking around slowly. "How long?"

"You were with the Gestapo five days. And here for a week." LeBeau smiled wider. "Now you can actually eat." He hoped Newkirk would eat now and eat a lot. While Newkirk at least looked alive, his gaunt face made him look closer to death than LeBeau wanted to think about. He was clean shaven--the nurses had kept his face clean probably due to Newkirk's wound that somehow involved his left eye. In some ways, that made it worse. Yellowing bruises combined with grey toned, sunken flesh made Newkirk look far more skeletal than anything else.

"Can we get you anything?" Carter asked.

"A pint would be nice." Carter and LeBeau exchanged quick smiles. "I'll be all right, mates." He touched his bandaged arm, then his face. "I'll never be ruddy pretty again, I see."

"It'll heal," Carter said earnestly. "You'll be fine." Newkirk gave him an odd look.

"Righto. So update me, mate."

The three talked until Carter yawned and Newkirk said he wanted to sleep. Carter and LeBeau stood and Newkirk wished them good night.

"Sleep well. I will bring you breakfast, " LeBeau promised.

"Thanks." The two started to leave. "Carter?"

"Yeah?" Carter looked over his shoulder. Newkirk gave him another odd look, one Carter couldn't decipher.

"Do me a favor?"

"Sure! Anything, buddy."

"Don't ever ruddy wear that aftershave again, all right?"


	21. Chapter 21

Kinch watched Carter stumble to his bunk and glanced quickly at LeBeau. LeBeau looked pleased with himself and Kinch propped himself up on one elbow. "What?" he mouthed, noting Carter was already sleeping. LeBeau poured fresh coffee into two mugs and gestured. They slipped outside the barracks, hiding from Schultz. Kinch drank coffee quickly. "What happened?" he whispered.

"Newkirk is awake." LeBeau almost bounced. Kinch smiled.

"Really? What happened?"

LeBeau glanced quickly around. "Andre did it," he murmured. "He pretended he was Colonel Hogan."

Kinch blinked. "You lost me, Louis."

"He put on Colonel Hogan's leather jacket, his aftershave, and acted as if he were the Colonel." LeBeau drank deeply.

"I'm sorry I missed that act," Kinch said. "And he woke Newkirk?"

"Like Sleeping Beauty."

Kinch bit back a quick rising of bile. "Actually, I'm glad I wasn't there." LeBeau scowled.

"It was quite touching, _mon ami_."

"Newkirk must be ill. Carter isn't anything like Colonel Hogan."

"He--it was odd, Kinch. He almost was. I mean, he did not speak like himself. _I_ almost believed he was mon Colonel. He spoke differently, moved differently."

"Huh." Kinch finished his coffee. "Is Newkirk all right?"

"He's awake and talking. That is a good start."

Kinch felt a huge weight lift from his shoulders. "That's good," he said. "Come on, we better get inside before Schultz catches us."

After roll call and breakfast, Kinch hurried to the infirmary with LeBeau and Kinch. Newkirk looked at them with a quick smile. "Hey," he said. He awkwardly sat up.

"You look alive," Kinch said. Carter self consciously blushed then looked at Newkirk who rolled his eye.

"Relax, Carter, it's fine."

"I brought you some food. Eat," LeBeau ordered. Clumsily, Newkirk fed himself. He didn't eat much before giving it back to LeBeau. "Eat more."

"I'm fine, Louie." He squirmed. "I'd like to ruddy stand, walk a bit. Give me a hand, mates."

"Are you sure?" Carter asked.

"Yes, I'm sure."

Kinch grasped Newkirk's uninjured arm and helped Newkirk up. Newkirk tottered a moment then took a step. As he crumpled with a yowl of pain, Carter caught him from behind and Kinch grabbed him around the waist. "OK, no more strolls," Kinch said as he eased Newkirk back to bed.

"Bloody knee," Newkirk hissed as white-blue pain flashed behind his eyelids. He panted for a few moments, looked around at the silence. "What?"

"Your shoulder," Carter said in a low, shaking tone.

"Right one?"

"Yes."

"It doesn't hurt anymore. I mean, it's sore but it's not bad."

Kinch reached out and gently pulled away the loose bandage. A lurid red, scabby wound blazed on Newkirk's shoulder. "It's a swastika," Carter mumbled.

"It doesn't 'urt so much, like I said."

Kinch disbelievingly touched the raised lines. "They branded you?" he blurted. His hand didn't quite cover the whole of the brand. It was, indeed, a swastika. Kinch swallowed. He could almost smell flesh cooking.

"That's what happens when you belong to the Reich." Newkirk sounded tired. "Look, mates, it's not a big deal."

"Not a big deal?" Kinch repeated in horror. "You're not some range cow, Newkirk! You don't belong to them!"

Newkirk shrugged. "It hurts less than me knee or ribs, James." He looked at Kinch wearily. "Or my face."

Kinch wheeled and left. Carter hurried after him. "Kinch!"

Kinch leaned on the infirmary wall, gulping air. "It's not right," he growled at Carter.

"I know."

"No, Carter, you don't. You're not...you're not..."

"Black?"

"From slave stock," Kinch said softly. "You can understand but you really can't _understand_."

"I know." Carter shuffled his feet. "It's kinda like my Indian cousins."

Kinch slowly nodded. "Yeah. Damn it, Carter, they _branded_ him! Like he was their meat or a steer."

"Maybe they think he is."

"He's a person."

"I know."

Alone with Newkirk, LeBeau gingerly touched the mark. "Filthy bastards."

"It'll heal."

"What else, Pierre? What else did they do?"

"They bloody beat me to a pulp. That's enough." Newkirk winced. "Just so you're not horrified, there's another brand on my hip. Red hot iron was the Kraut's torture of choice that day."

_"Mon Dieu."_

"Louie, stop worrying." Newkirk inhaled. "When I was out, it was Carter who brought me back, right?"

"_Oui._ Don't be angry, _mon ami. _ He was trying to reach you. He thought Colonel Hogan could succeed where no one else could."

Newkirk nodded quickly. "That's what I thought." He stared at the wall and LeBeau nervously shuffled his feet. "I'll be fine."

"We need you, mon ami."

Newkirk gave a twisted smile. "LeBeau, I'm not trying to die. I'm not afraid to, however."

"We need you!"

"This unit is more important than one man. If I fall, there are plenty more to take my place."

"But they're not you."

Newkirk smiled wider. "Good thing there, mate."

"This isn't funny! We need you!"

"We needed the Colonel. He's gone. People die and the world keeps going." Newkirk stared at the wall again. "Tell Carter he did good. He almost made me believe."

"Believe what?"

Newkirk shrugged, lips pressed into a thin line. Both men turned as Carter and Kinch returned. "Hochstetter," Kinch said. "And Burkhalter."

"Hell," Newkirk muttered. "Hochstetter isn't dead?"

"No, just got bitten by some prisoner." Carter eyed Newkirk. "It wasn't you, was it?"

"I didn't see Hochstetter, just his paid thugs."

The door opened and Kinch, LeBeau, and Carter stood defensively around Newkirk's bed. Hochstetter swept in. "Why are these men here, Klink?" he demanded.

"Colonel Schuberg has said they could be here with Corporal Newkirk. He thought they would be good for him. And as you can see, Newkirk is awake."

"Colonel Schuberg?" Hochstetter looked a bit nervous and Carter snickered. "So I see. To your feet, Corporal."

"I can't bloody stand," Newkirk growled.

Burkhalter came over. "You look terrible, Corporal."

"Thank you, sir."

"That was not a compliment."

"Looking terrible is a compliment when I should be dead, sir."

"True." Burkhalter shook his head. "So what did you learn, Hochstetter?'

"He is a spy!"

"Newkirk?" Klink exclaimed. "Ridiculous! How could one of my prisoners be a spy?"

"What did you learn, Major?" Burkhalter eyed Hochstetter with distaste.

"He learned nothing, Herr General." Wellston, in guise as Schuberg, came in with the doctor. "Good morning, Kommandant, General. Major Hochstetter."

"Schuberg," Hochstetter acknowledged. "You do like to interfere."

Wellston walked to Newkirk, looked down on him. "So the Englander is awake. He is tenacious. Interfere, Wolfgang? I 'interfered' only when I saw your interrogators getting nothing from a useless POW."

"You spent a lot of effort on useless," Hochstetter said.

"Just to embarrass you." Wellston grasped Newkirk's chin, turned his face slightly. Newkirk stared back at him. Wellston released Newkirk then wiped his gloved hands on a towel. "He's your patient, Doctor." He glanced at the men. "Leave."

Kinch nudged Carter and the men left. Wellston glanced at the General. "It has been a while, General."

"It has indeed. How is your wife?"

"She is well."

"Come, let us go to Klink's office," Burkhalter said. "Klink, have your Frenchman cook lunch."

"Of course, Herr General. It is an honor."

"Doctor, help the prisoner to the shower," Wellston said. "A bath could only help."

Major Cole met the men outside the barracks. "Is Newkirk all right?"

"Yes," Carter said. "And he's awake now."

Cole's eyebrows raised. "When did he wake?"

"This morning," LeBeau hastily said.

"And why wasn't I told?"

"Because the Krauts came in," Carter explained.

"I'll talk to Newkirk."


	22. Chapter 22

Major Cole stepped into the infirmary where the doctor and nurses carefully recast Newkirk's arm and wrapped his ribs. Newkirk's hair dripped and he didn't appear to notice Cole's entrance. The smell of antiseptic filled the air. Cole paused a moment, shocked to his core. Multitudes of marks lashed Newkirk's thin body. Bruises, scabbed over cuts, a stray burn mark here and there. The most evident was a vivid red slash up his face, across his left eye, which was an odd, blue grey shade. A scabbed, virulent looking swastika was branded on his left hip, an inverted triangle beneath it. His right knee bulged oddly. Major Cole closed his eyes in impotent rage. _Merciful God, forgive me. I understand why Wellston would have shot him._

He must have made some noise for Newkirk's head swung up. "Major," Newkirk said hollowly. "I'll be all right." He pulled his only covering, a towel, tighter around his waist.

"So I see. Can you see out of that eye?"

"Too early to tell." Newkirk squirmed. "Can I get dressed now?"

"Sit still," the doctor snapped. You act like a child."

Newkirk stiffened but allowed the doctor to continue. When he was bandaged and allowed to move, he tried to stand and cried out in pain. Major Cole moved to help. The glare he got made him stop and Newkirk braced himself with his uninjured arm. Awkwardly he hobbled to a chair and grabbed some clothes. "Want help?"

"No," Newkirk said. He clumsily, slowly drew on loose underwear and trousers. One of the nurses helped him with a shirt and his socks despite Newkirk's mutters.

"Hello, Newkirk," Cole finally said. "You look bad but a lot better than when I saw you last."

Newkirk stared at him again. "I'm alive, Major."

Cole inwardly grimaced. This was not going to be easy. The doctor gripped Newkirk's arm and handed him some crutches. "Try to walk a little," he said.

"You're blooming joking, right?"

"You must exercise."

Newkirk managed to struggle outside and stood in the sunlight, panting. Cole walked out beside him. "I'm sorry I couldn't get to you."

"I'm not talking about this, Major." Newkirk turned his face towards the sun. "I'm too bloomin' tired and I hurt."

Cole nodded. He actually hadn't expected Newkirk to talk. And seeing how closely Newkirk resembled a corpse, he wouldn't push. In many ways, he was glad. _What can I say? Hey, sorry about the whole being tortured bit. I need to speak to Wellston, get Newkirk home ASAP._

"Hey, Newkirk!"

Olson and Parks hurried over, followed by Carter. The cheer died from their faces as they spied the horrible scar down Newkirk's face. "Told you I wasn't pretty," Newkirk said bitingly.

Carter stepped over to him, face hardening. "Can you see?" he asked softly. Newkirk didn't reply at first, just glanced around the camp.

"It'll be fine, Andrew," he finally said.

"Glad to see you up. Want to walk a little? Or, hey, we can grab the wheelchair."

"I'd like to just sit some and have a cup of tea."

"Good idea," Cole said. "Olson, Parks, bring that bench over. Carter, stay with Newkirk. I'll check on LeBeau and the Krauts."

Newkirk sat on the bench, Carter beside him. Olson and Parks nervously wandered back and forth. "You can ruddy talk to me," Newkirk snapped. "I'm not dead."

"Sorry," Olson muttered. "You just--look bad."

"Because it is bad. But I'll heal."

"Can you, um, see?"

"Yes."

Carter looked at Newkirk from the corner of his eye. He still felt awkward about before--how do you explain to your friend that you weren't kissing him but you were? The others brought tea and cookies which Newkirk thanked them for and then drifted off, all oddly uncomfortable. "I'm sorry," Carter said quickly. "Not about bringing you back but for making you think the Colonel was still alive."

"What was worse was you speaking for him, telling me I had some special reason, something important to do. It was nice where I was."

"Not real."

"Real enough."

"I never said that, you know."

Newkirk looked at Carter. "What?"

"That there was a special reason for you to stay. I just, um, said you were needed." Carter flushed. "We do need you."

Newkirk looked baffled. "And trust me?"

"Huh?"

"Did you say trust me?"

"Maybe once. Gosh, Newkirk, I am sorry. But maybe the Colonel was trying to talk to you."

"There are no ruddy mediums, Carter, no ghosts or angels. Just my own head."

"Boy, you really can't believe, can you?"

"Of course I can. But you have to be able to see it, touch it."

"You can't touch love."

Newkirk snorted. "I can see what people do for it. Sure that's real sometimes. But I don't believe in ghosts or voices from the dead."

"I do," Carter said. "I think he came back to speak to you."

Newkirk looked frustrated. "You believe what you want, mate. But that doesn't make Santa Claus real." He finished his tea, stared at the cup. "Can you help me inside? I'm a bit knackered."

"Sure."

Carter helped Newkirk inside where the younger nurse smiled at him and helped Newkirk back into bed. "Shouldn't his eye be bandaged?" Carter asked. She stared at him puzzledly and Carter pointed at Newkirk's eye. Then she smiled and shook her head.

_"Es braucht frische Luft bringen (It needs fresh air)," _she said.

Carter shrugged in feigned non comprehension. Newkirk yawned. "Anything else?" Carter asked.

"Just some eyepatches, mate."

Carter left with a grin.

LeBeau carefully put the dessert onto plates and gestured to Schultz. Schultz nodded and hurriedly served the officers while LeBeau handed food to Mills who hurried it to Barracks 2. LeBeau also slid spices into his pockets and made up a plate for Schultz and one for Newkirk. As he scrubbed a few dishes (his own pots--Klink had his own men to wash dishes), he tried to catch what the Krauts were saying.

_"Sie rettete die Engländer zu demütigen Major Hochstetter?" (_So you saved the Englander to humiliate Major Hochstetter?)" Burkhalter asked.

_"Ich habe ihn gerettet, weil Major Hochstetter ein Narr ist."_(I saved him because Major Hochstetter has been a fool)." Wellston sound annoyed. "_Wasting Zeit auf einem POW, wenn es viel schlechter zu Fuß Bedrohungen. (_Wasting time on a POW when there are far worse threats afoot)."

_"Er ist ein Spion. (_He is a spy)."

_"Er ist ein unfähiger RAF Kanonier. Er kann nicht einmal aus einem Gefangenenlager, Wolfgang entkommen!_ (He is an incompetent RAF gunner. He can not even escape from a prison camp, Wolfgang!)"

_"Aber du ihn gerettet (_Yet you saved him)," Burkhalter said.

_"Natürlich. Es gibt jemanden, der meine Ärzte ihre Fähigkeiten auf und testen, um ihre Treue zu üben._ (Of course. It gives my doctors someone to practice their skills on and to test their loyalty)."

_"Sehr klug_ (Very clever)," Burkhalter admitted.

_"Wenn der Mensch stirbt, kann nicht gesagt werden, dass wir nicht versuchen, ihn zu heilen._ (If the man dies, it can not be said that we did not try to heal him). _" _Wellston sounded so blase, so casual, LeBeau wanted to hit him.

_"So was passiert mit Corporal Newkirk?_(So what happens to Corporal Newkirk?)" Klink asked.

_"Er ist ein Kriegsgefangener ist (_He is a POW)," Wellston laughed. "_Er bleibt hier. Er wird leben oder sterben. (_He stays here. He will live or die)."_ "_

_"Natürlich_ (Of course)," Klink said.

_"Und Ihre gefälschte Colonel Hogan_? (And your fake Colonel Hogan)_" _Wellston asked. LeBeau halted all motion. _ "Was wirst du mit ihm machen?_(What will you do with him?)_" _

_"Woher wissen Sie das?_ (How did you know?)" Hochstetter demanded._" _

_"Ich bin kein Narr, Hochstetter. Was werden Sie mit einem Hogan verdoppeln? Die Männer sind hier nicht weiß, dass er tot ist._ (I am no fool, Hochstetter. What will you do with a Hogan double? The men here know he is dead)."

_"Ich habe ihn an anderer Stelle verwenden können_ (I can use him in other places)." Hochstetter snapped.

LeBeau turned as Schultz hurried in and began eating. "Big shots," he muttered to LeBeau. "All chattering about Newkirk as if he was a spy."

"Right, Schultzie. As if any of us could be spies."

"Ja, I know. We have the most secure Stalag in Germany."

"Thanks to you," LeBeau teased.

_"Danke."_

LeBeau rolled his eyes and left. On the way out, he spotted Kinch tossing a ball to Carter. The three sauntered together. "Everything all right?" Kinch asked.

"Oui. Except Wellston is too good. He seems to actually be Gestapo."

"Told you so," Carter said.

"London says he's the real deal." Kinch turned the ball in his hands.

"Is Newkirk OK?" LeBeau asked.

"Tired," Carter said. He swallowed. "And his face is pretty messed up."

"How bad?" LeBeau asked.

"You won't have to worry about him stealing girls," Carter said. "Not that, ah, he would but you know what I mean."

"That is bad," Kinch said.

"You didn't see him?' LeBeau asked.

"Listening to the pot. And Major Cole said he wanted to talk to him," Kinch explained.

"I will take him his food."

LeBeau slipped in the infirmary. Newkirk slept and LeBeau set down the tray. His hands balled into fists at the large scar across his friend's face. Quietly he sat beside him. Newkirk blinked and looked up. "Hey, LeBeau."

"Hello. You should eat."

Newkirk sat up with gritted teeth and LeBeau gave him a pain pill, then his food. As he ate, LeBeau leerily peered closer at the wound. "It was a knife," he said softly.

"Yeah."

"Can you see at all from that eye?"

Newkirk glanced at him. Light and shadow," he finally said.

"Pigs." Newkirk swirled the food on his plate. "Eat, Pierre."

"Louie, you remember your time with the Gestapo?"

"Yes," LeBeau replied. "It was painful. Nothing like your treatment, mon ami." He looked at his hands. "I am sorry. We should have come for you."

"Cole didn't try?"

"He was working on a plan, I will say that. We should have worked harder."

"I didn't talk but I wasn't that strong either."

"Pierre, do not blame yourself! You were tortured!"

Newkirk gave him a smile. "Thanks, LeBeau. I needed to hear that."

"Eat!"

Late that night, Newkirk work to the creak of footsteps. He jolted up with a hiss of pain. "It's just me, Corporal."

"Group Captain?"

"Yes." Wellston settled beside him. "How are you feeling?"

"Hurt but alive. Thank to you."

"You pulled yourself through. I just helped a little."

"Did you really want to shoot me?"

Wellston sighed. "I thought about it. Until you asked to come here. I'm glad I didn't."

Newkirk nodded. _Part of me wishes you would have._ He firmly told that part of himself to go away and looked at Wellston. "I'm glad you came."

"Me too. We have to talk. You have mentioned Rob a lot. In your coma. " Newkirk felt terror sweep through him. "I assume that's Robert?" Newkirk didn't reply. "Corporal, things happen. I understand men getting together. I just wanted to let you know you needn't worry. I'm actually glad Rob had you around. I'm sure it must get lonely."

"Yes." Newkirk wouldn't say anything else. _Let him think it was a quickie now and then._

"Is that why he asked you to be his aide?'

"He said I made his coffee right."_ Oops. I better play this right. _"He had a lot of women he liked."

"I thought so. Major Cole has asked me to get you back to London ASAP."

"What?" _What the hell?_

"You've earned it."

"NO." Newkirk fought back the rage. "I'm 'ere to the end, mate. It's my job! Think I can leave this to two daft Yanks, a balmy Frenchman and Major Cole? I'm staying!" _The gov trusted me. I have to complete this._

Wellston blinked in shock. "Newkirk, you can't see out of that eye, your knee is bad, and your arm is broke!"

"Me hands and voice work and I'll heal. Most important, I can still ruddy think! I've walked a bit today."

He sensed the smile before he saw it. "All right," Wellston said. "I did read your file, Newkirk. The Gestapo file, I mean."

Newkirk went numb again. _He didn't. Please don't let him know what happened in that cell. _"And?" he asked warily.

A hand squeezed his uninjured shoulder. "I won't tell," Wellston said softly. "And you are not the only person it happened to. The Jerries have become masters at torture."

Newkirk felt himself shaking. "Thank you," he mumbled._ How do I tell him I remember everything? Especially at night._

"You were very impressive, very strong."

"So strong I screamed like a bloody gel day and night," Newkirk muttered. _Cried like a baby half the time._

"You gave them nothing!" Wellston sounded indignant. "I don't think you know how rare that is! You will get a medal."

"Rather have Hogan back," Newkirk whispered.

"I know." Newkirk flushed. _Bloody bat eared officers! _"I believe a new CO is coming for you men."

"Who?" _ No more Cole?_

"I'm not sure. Several names have been offered. I'll tell you men about them in a few days."

Newkirk exhaled. "All right."

"Are you sure about staying?"

"Yes, sir." Newkirk glared at the man. "I'm sure."

"All right."


	23. Chapter 23

Kinch watched Wellston come down the tunnel. Frankly, he was beginning to wonder about the Group Captain. Gestapo or no, Wellston was a bit odd. Worrying about the unit when he wasn't even the leader was just not done. Yet Kinch had to admit he liked it. Carter no longer coughed and Newkirk was alive. And the genial concern the English officer always showed was soothing, like a warm bath. _Admit it, you like the fact that he's always treated you as a man, not as a black man._

"Good evening, Group Captain."

"Good evening, Kinch."

"You're becoming a regular."

"A bit, aren't I? Ah, well. Are you well?"

"Fine, sir. We have fresh coffee made."

"Thank you. Oh." Wilson dug in his pockets, brought out a small bag of coffee and another of hard candies. "Courtesy of Gestapo HQ."

"Thanks." Kinch glanced at Wellston again. "Sir, when will Newkirk leave?"

"He's decided he's staying."

Kinch stared. "Are you kidding? But..staying?!"

"His choice." Wellston poured coffee.

"All right, I guess. Sir, when you were in with the Krauts, you mentioned Colonel Hogan's double."

Wellston frowned. "Yes, I would like to know where he is. And who he is. I don't like the idea of a Hogan doppelgänger. At least you men can visit his grave here."

"Major Cole never told you?" Kinch blurted. "Our cemetery was destroyed. Hochstetter said it was against regulations. The bodies were dug up and burned at Stalag 7. Major Cole nearly had a riot here but he handled it. He understood."

Wellston put down his mug. "Hochstetter had Hogan's body burned?" He sounded--shaky. Kinch studied the Group Captain closer.

"Are you all right sir?"

"Forgive me, Sergeant. Your Colonel, as I have said, was a good friend of mine."

"You'll hate to hear this then, sir."

Kinch quietly relayed what Newkirk had told them, of corpse mutilation and the casual desecration of the cemetery. Wellston listened carefully. At the end, he sat down, sipped his coffee, and looked at Kinch with haunted eyes. "Damn Hochstetter," he whispered. "All those men deserved better."

"Yes, sir."

Wellston sighed. "I can derail Hochstetter some of the time." He stared at his hands. "I was hoping to return Robert's body to his family. Thank you, Kinch, for telling me."

"You're welcome. You flew together?"

"Some. He flew with me in my Skua . Just small, training flights. He did well--for an Yank bomber pilot. " Wellston grinned. "My CO wasn't happy."

Kinch chuckled. He carefully drew out a few more stories about Hogan and Wellston, watching the Group Captain soften some. They both looked up when Carter neared. "Group Captain! Hi."

"Hello, Carter. Is Major Cole still awake?"

"Yeah. He's talking to LeBeau about tomorrow night. We're looking for flyers. London has a bombing raid planned." He looked at Wellston. "Can I ask, sir, is the invasion coming soon?"

Wellston chuckled. "I'm afraid you see me as far more important than I am," he said. "I believe so but I was not given a time table, Carter."

"Oh. Guess we'll be shutting down then. After the invasion, I mean."

"Actually, we'll all be busier than ever. Wounded and dying makes the Krauts far more dangerous than before. Don't worry, Sergeant, you'll be working for a long while yet."

"And you, sir?"

"Like Newkirk, I'm here until the end. It's my job."

"Newkirk's staying?' Carter blurted. "But Major Cole said..."

"Newkirk wishes to stay." Wellston had to smile at Carter's grin.

"That's great!"

"What is?" Major Cole and LeBeau came into view. "Hello, Wellston."

"Good evening, Major Cole."

"We should make you one of the unit. You're here enough."

Wellston's eyes narrowed for a moment and Kinch glanced quickly at his CO. "I was talking to Newkirk," Wellston said. "He's chosen to stay, Major."

"What? He can't! Group Captain, he's not able to walk, much less work."

"He's still got his hands, his voice, and his mind, as he put it. He's chosen to stay." Wellston finished his coffee. "That's that."

"Sirs?" Carter pointed.

Newkirk hobbled down the tunnel with Wilson. Kinch inhaled sharply at his first sight of Newkirk's damaged face. "God, Peter," he exclaimed.

"I'm just exercising a bit," Newkirk crossly said. Wilson eased him onto a chair.

"I helped him down the ladder," Wilson explained. "Why you had to visit at 0100..."

"Got bored." Newkirk poured a cup of coffee as LeBeau hurried to him. "Don't worry. I don't hurt so much." Which everyone could see was a lie.

"We can help him back," Kinch said to Wilson.

"Are you sure? I don't mind staying."

"Go," Newkirk said. "Just leave my pills."

"You already had one. Take one in two hours," Wilson said. He passed over a bottle.

"Yes, mum."

Wilson left with a worried look over his shoulder.

"Newkirk, I have to ask," Cole started.

"I never mentioned the operation," Newkirk said. "Not at all."

"I didn't mean that,' Cole said in surprise. "I wanted to know if you heard or saw anything at Gestapo HQ that we could use."

"Wellston is right here, Major." Newkirk nibbled a chocolate bar LeBeau had given him.

"I'm not among the prisoners often," Wellston said.

Newkirk frowned. "There was a girl next to me," he said slowly. "Woman, actually. French. She --cried out a few names." Newkirk shifted uncomfortably. "They sounded a bit familiar, like old Underground contacts."

"What were they?" Cole asked.

"I wasn't really paying much attention." Newkirk shifted again, stared at the candy bar. "I think she said Jean Luc and Etienne and the big wolf."

Kinch looked at Cole. "Big, bad wolf might be an agent," he said. "I've heard Tiger mention him although none of us or her ever worked with him and that was about two years ago. It could be the same person."

"We'll need to warn Tiger," Cole said. "What else, Newkirk?"

"Did she know more?" Carter asked.

"She screamed more than anything else," Newkirk said. "And my french is poor. Her name was Lily, Liliah." He paled somewhat. "Prisoners try to talk a little but I didn't hear much." He visibly swallowed.

"We must rescue her!" LeBeau said.

"The Group Captain can," Carter suggested.

"Oui! You can!" LeBeau's face glowed.

"No, I can't." Wellston studied LeBeau. "I saved Newkirk, yes. I could because Hochstetter dragged him in for no real reason, I outrank Hochstetter, Hochstetter has no significant officers backing him, and Newkirk's an allied soldier. His capture was also a huge risk to this operation and others. I had to get him out, no matter the risk. Lily is under another officer's jurisdiction and as much as I may want to, I can't get involved. Her capture does not open us up to exposure."

"She is being tortured!" LeBeau blurted.

"I know." Wellston was grim. "It's a risk we all take."

"How did you find out about Newkirk?" Cole asked.

"I have a friend who lets me know certain things. She lets me see prisoner lists of other Gestapo agents. I always read Hochstetter's. I only wish I'd seen it sooner but I had other duties."

"It's ok," Newkirk said.

"You can't help Lily at all?" Carter asked.

"No, I can't. She is a favorite of Standartenführer Goss. "

"A favorite?" Carter echoed.

Wellston glanced at Newkirk quickly then Carter. "She's young, pretty and belongs to a country the Germans defeated. Yes, she's a favorite."

"France is not defeated!"

"Pétain's armistice and Vichy government says part of it is." Wellston sighed. "I'm sorry."

"If she were English, you would help," LeBeau muttered.

"No, I wouldn't." Wellston shook his head. "It is not in my power."

"Enough, LeBeau," Cole said. "The Group Captain can't do everything."

"Sometimes, I can't do anything." Wellston stood. "Major Cole, could you walk me out?"

Cole followed the Group Captain. LeBeau scowled. "Ease up on him, LeBeau," Kinch said. "If he can't save her, he can't save her." He shook his head. "I thought our job could be dangerous.

"What do you mean?" Carter asked.

"Would you like to play a Gestapo agent continually? Not for a mission but for years?"

Carter winced. "Ouch. Not a chance." He glanced at Newkirk. "You're feeling better?"

"Some." Newkirk winced as he shifted. "Just gotta heal."

Kinch stood up and walked over to him. He looked down at Newkirk's slashed face and shook his head. "Damn, Peter, I'm sorry." He tentatively reached out and clasped Newkirk's shoulder.

Newkirk gave a half smile, reached up and grasped Kinch's wrist. "Thanks, mate. But I'll be all right."

"You look tired," LeBeau said.

"A bit. Going round the bend in that infirmary."

"You can catch some sleep here," Carter offered, nodding to the cots for 'guests'. "I have smoke bombs to make."

"And I'll be at the radio."

LeBeau smiled. "I will sit with you, Newkirk."

"Maybe for a bit."

Kinch helped Newkirk to a bunk and Newkirk laid down carefully. He fell asleep rather quickly. Major Cole came back a few minutes later, looking annoyed. He cocked his head at Newkirk and then glanced at Kinch. "Can you get him back to the infirmary?"

"Sure."

Cole vanished and Kinch shrugged at LeBeau. Around an hour later, Kinch was in the midst of receiving a message when a sharp cry made him jump and turn. Carter scrambled into the room as LeBeau shook Newkirk hard to wake him. "Repeat, London," Kinch said automatically, watching as Carter tried to help. Newkirk thrashed once against their grip. As Kinch scribbled down the message and the wrestling continued, LeBeau desperately placed his hand over Newkirk's mouth as the Englishman cried out again.

"Stop it, Newkirk. Be quiet!" LeBeau ordered.

Newkirk stilled immediately. The look of terror on his face made Kinch raise to his feet. "LeBeau," he said softly. "Let him go." LeBeau glanced at Kinch then Newkirk and let go of Newkirk as if he glowed red hot. Newkirk pressed back against the wall, trembling. "It's us, Newkirk," Kinch said quietly, as if soothing a terrified animal. Newkirk exhaled noisily and seemed to realize where he was.

"It's all right," Newkirk muttered. "Just a bit of a nightmare."

"A bit?" LeBeau replied.

"Give him a break, LeBeau. I'd have nightmares with only half of what Newkirk suffered." Kinch scribbled down another note. "Can you give this to Cole?"

"Sure. What are you doing?"

"Someone has to help Newkirk back. It would be odd if he's not in the infirmary."

"I can help," Carter offered.

"I'm all right," Newkirk said sharply. He stood up, leaned on the wall. "Bloody knee."

Carter slung Newkirk's right arm over his shoulder. "Come on," he urged.

Kinch and Lebeau watched them leave. "He is terrified," LeBeau finally said.

"Uh huh. I have a feeling the nightmares are just starting, LeBeau."


	24. Chapter 24

Surprisingly, Major Cole wasn't replaced immediately. Kinch wondered if Cole had someone who was watching out for him in London but he had to admit the Major actually went a little easier on LeBeau and Newkirk. Newkirk, too, seemed better yet Kinch noted a few disturbing traits. The brash corporal became almost hesitant at times and the nightmares--well, they were constant. Not that everyone knew. After the first few nights, Newkirk rarely made noise after some of the men teased him about his 'girly' screaming (_and for those remarks, Mills and Benton could just continue doing laundry detail until the war ended)_. How Newkirk had learned to silence those screams Kinch didn't know but Newkirk was always the first one up and always at the coffee pot. Yet he could walk fairly well after two weeks and the bruises were gone. That was good because the unit was humming and everyone was needed. Rarely a night went by without guests and bombers always seemed to be dropping their loads somewhere nearby.

One night as Kinch manned the radio alone, Baker came down. "You're needed uptop."

"What's up?"

"Don't know. Just that Newkirk says get you."

Kinch nodded and scrambled upstairs. Newkirk stood by the door, watching out into the compound. "What is it?"

"Marya."

"Huh." Kinch joined Newkirk. "Now that's odd. Cole, Carter and LeBeau all at the Underground meeting and she shows up here."

"That's not a good sign, mate."

"Think we should visit her?"

"She's here by herself. That's strange, too." Newkirk glanced at Kinch. "I guess we should wait until she turns out the lights."

"You willing to talk to her?"

"Sure."

Kinch bit back his next question. _Are you able to do this? _Newkirk and he watched the compound until the guest quarters' lights flicked off and Newkirk and he headed into the tunnels. While Newkirk went to the guest quarters, Kinch waited patiently with Baker. When footsteps pounded towards them, he jerked. Newkirk hurried, Marya beside him. "Why is she here?"

"We've been played, mate."

"What are you talking about?" Kinch left Baker at the radio and followed.

Newkirk rushed to the map table. "Tell him, Marya."

"It is odd, no? I ask Newkirk if he is excited because Hogan is returning and he goes, how you say, mad. Like slavering dog. He grabs me and shakes me." Marya ran a hand over Newkirk's unhurt arm. "So strong for skinny man. I explain that Hogan is back."

"Hochstetter didn't want us, Kinch," Newkirk stated. "He wants the damn Underground!"

"Hogan is dead," Kinch blurted.

"_Nyet._ I tell Newkirk, Hogan explains to me that he escaped from Gestapo. London says for him not to come back to Stalag 13 yet but work with silly blond Tiger and the Underground."

Kinch felt sweat starting on his neck. "The doppelgänger," he said. "He's with the Underground."

"Dead on." Newkirk traced a path on the map. "And our boys and all the ruddy Underground leaders are at this meeting tonight. Hochstetter 'as to be licking his chops."

"Why wait?"

"Because tonight is big. And what big thing is most likely coming down the line?"

Kinch closed his eyes. "The invasion."

"Uh huh. Thats what I'd bet on. Hochstetter catches these people and invasion plans? He'll be right under Goering."

"So?" Marya said. "I tell you, it is Hogan."

"It's not," Newkirk said as Kinch pressed beside him, studying the area map of the meeting place.

"Believe me, it is Hogan." Marya wiggled suggestively in place.

"It's not," Newkirk snapped. "We had his bloody body, Marya."

"Gestapo trick," Marya waved off.

"There's a road here--damn, it's pretty rugged there." Kinch frowned, tracing the road with a finger.

"Looks like that road is only one nearby. Hochstetter's goons will be everywhere." Newkirk hissed between his teeth. "Knowing Hochstetter, he'll wait until the meeting is over then grab everyone he can."

"Including Cole, Carter, and Lebeau."

"Along with Tiger, Repunzal, and anyone else there." Newkirk scowled. "I'll have to ruddy shoot out the tires right off."

"You think Hogan is not real?" Marya shook her head. "He will be so upset with you. My small one, he will believe."

"Hogan's dead," Kinch said shortly.

"Our contact is there, too." She strolled close, peered at the map.

"Who?" Kinch asked.

"Baba Yaga."

"Wonderful. They're sitting ducks." Newkirk rubbed his head. "OK. So what do we do?" He looked at Kinch.

_Oh, no no! How should I know?_ Kinch inhaled. "We'll have to take out all the Gestapo," he started.

"Right but how?"

"If we can get there before the meeting ends, we can blow the trucks then pick off the Gestapo one by one if need be."

"If we can tell who tell the Gestapo are." Newkirk checked his watch. "I'll need a car."

"You are going?" Marya said. "But I tell you all is well."

"Sorry, luv, have to see that for myself." Newkirk swallowed hard. "Hope Carter left lots of smoke bombs. I'll get a bag together while you think of a way to get a car or truck."

"OK. I'll also take two Gestapo uniforms."

Newkirk looked startled then immediately sad. "Kinch, you can't go," he softly said.

"What?!"

"You 'ave to contact London and if the worst happens, you have to help the others escape, escape yourself and tell London what happened."

"You're joking."

"Kinch, you know everything about the operation from start to finish. You can handle things better than me. I'm no leader, mate. You are."

"You can barely walk! And your arm..."

"isn't my shooting hand. And it doesn't hurt. I can walk just fine, mate. 'Sides, I am a better shot than you, one eyed or not. I go, Kinch. Not you."

"I outrank you, Corporal," Kinch snarled.

"You do." Newkirk looked at Kinch steadily. "You can order me to stay. You know I'm right, though. You are needed here. I can't do what you do."

"Son of a bitch." Kinch fought down the rage. "Damn it, Peter!" He paced a few feet. Newkirk watched him. "You're right. I'll send Parks with you. And Olson."

"Are you daft? You'll need them and they'll slow me down. Too many people."

"You can't do this by yourself. The others will be glad to help."

"We'll draw too much attention!"

"I will take you," Marya said. "I can help him."

Newkirk eyed her suspiciously. "This isn't a game, Marya. Hochstetter is 'ardly going to let you cuddle up to him."

Marya smiled coldly. "Do not worry about me, my English crumpet. I know a few things. Come to my quarters in 10 minutes." She swept off in a swirl of perfume and dress.

Kinch looked at Newkirk. "Newkirk, this is a bad plan."

"Only one we got. I'll take some dynamite too."

"All right." Kinch looked at Newkirk steadily. "Get your stuff."

Newkirk hurried off, packing a bag quickly but calmly. Five minutes later, he had changed into his blacks and slung the large duffle over his shoulder. Kinch met him, face grim. "Do you have a few HDMs packed?" he asked. The High Standard HDM .22 Long Rifle pistols and their silencers had proven their worth time and time again. Newkirk nodded. "You better get moving then."

"Thanks."

"Hurry back, Peter." Kinch swallowed. "Be careful."

"You, too, mate." Newkirk smiled. "Don't worry, Kinch. The others will help once they know I'm there. 'Sides, they know Hogan is dead and they probably have the Gestapo in a right standoff by now."

Kinch hugged Newkirk quickly then shoved him off. "Get moving," he ordered.

"On my way."

Newkirk hurried to Marya's quarters. She wore her coat still but her hair now fell in a sleek braid. She slung a small pack over her shoulder. "I will get my car. You must sneak in the trunk."

"Not a problem."

15 minutes later, they rolled through the gates.


	25. Chapter 25

After they passed the gates and went around the corner, Marya stopped and let Newkirk out. Thanks," he said. "Wow. You look different." Marya now wore a sleek black outfit of snug sweater, pants and rugged boots, having tossed off her fur.

"I have appropriate attire," Marya said. "You drive. You know the land better."

"Gotcha."

Although a bit clumsy with his still injured arm, Newkirk drove fairly easily. "Why did you not tell Underground you think Hogan was dead?" Marya asked.

"We did. Immediately. Just like we got word to you. What make you think he's Hogan?"

"He is Hogan! He looks like Hogan, talks like Hogan, even smells like Hogan. It is Hogan!"

"Marya, I buried Colonel Hogan. It's not Hogan."

"Bah. You will see."

"You can shoot, right?"

"I am Russian! Of course I can shoot!"

"Right. Guess we better see what's waiting for us."

The rendezvous place sat snug in a small valley, surrounded by rugged hills and one bumpy road. Newkirk stopped the car a distance away, opened his bag and handed Marya a HDM. "They have silencers."

"Thank you. And for you." She handed Newkirk an odd rifle. "MP 44. The Germans make them. I think it is only fair that they see how well they work. They are not quiet but they shoot a lot."

_"Sturmgewehr 44s?"_

_"Da._ We liberate as many as we can."

Newkirk nodded, placing the gun in the bag. "Spare the Hogan double," he said.

"Of course!"

"Any other Kraut is fair game."

Marya smiled chillingly. "I love the way you think."

"Let's try to be a bit careful."

"So what first?"

"We'll mine the road first. Block off any way those vehicles can leave. Then we sneak in and pick off Gestapo, one by one."

"All right. You will be OK?"

"I'm fine, just a bit slower than you."

They moved off as quietly as they could. Newkirk set up several delayed bombs _(Thank you, Andrew!) _and then the two headed into the brush. Newkirk watched his new partner melt into the shrubbery and shook his head. Marya carefully stayed several meters away, always nearby, watching everything. He scanned the area, quickly seeing the Gestapo trucks (two) and a car. Numerous soldiers hid in the bushes around. Newkirk hastily counted them, biting his lip as he spotted Hochstetter. _Twelve, thirteen. Great. Why aren't the others shooting? Don't they know what's going on? The Jerries don't seem too ruddy worried._

Marya ghosted up beside him. "If I attack the group," she murmured, patting the MP 44. "You can pick off the stragglers quietly, no?"

"They'll focus in on us."

"I'll go there." She pointed at a spot behind a thick spray of trees. "You go other way."

Newkirk thought about her plan and nodded. While he was pretty well healed, he still wasn't 100%. Marya slipped off and he edged silently to the best position he could find. He awkwardly pulled the gun out of the bag and waited. The chattering of the MP 44 made him half lunge. It rattled viciously and the soldiers seemed to explode into pieces. Newkirk shook himself and started to shoot.

Losing the sight in his left eye had disconcerted him originally. With stealthy practice, he had adjusted to the change in depth perception. In compensation, however, he listened far more than he ever had before and honestly, the MP 44 was loud. Newkirk picked off several running soldiers then moved towards the barn. _What are they doing? Can't believe no one is helping us! Oh, don't let the others be dead! _Marya flickered into his sight, sliding around the barn. Newkirk quickly fired at a still moving soldier then slowly began shooting every German soldier he could see, downed or up. This is ruddy charming. But they have to be taken care of. The ground rocked and he knew the bombs had detonated, destroying the road. He worked methodically, following Marya's route. He placed a round in every soldier's head and constantly kept looking around for more. He found it hard to believe he and Marya had gotten all of them. Yet the violence of the assault rifle was hard to beat._She's actually wounded a lot more than she killed._ He paused only once when he came to Major Hochstetter. The diminutive man clenched a stomach wound, writhing frantically as the smell of blood and ruptured bowel filled the air. "Hello, Major," Newkirk softly said. "Fancy finding you here."

Hochstetter looked up at him. "Englander," he growled. "I was right."

"About what?"

"Hogan led an entire group of saboteurs!"

"But you can't tell anybody, can you?" Newkirk grinned. He pushed Hochstetter with his booted foot, listened to him yowl in pain. "I've been waiting a bloody long time for this."

"You will be drawn and quartered!"

"I don't think so."

Afterwards, Newkirk stared at the corpse. _I should feel better, vindicated. And part of me does. Yet, this still isn't enough._

"Are you coming?" a husky voice whispered. Marya peered at him from inside the barn door. "Hurry."

Newkirk quickly scanned for other Krauts and slid inside.

The barn smelled faintly of hay and former occupants of the four legged kind. People, all armed, pointed guns at them. "It's ok," Cole said. Newkirk scanned the crowd, quickly noting LeBeau, and Carter seemed all right as well. Marya stood with her arms entwined around the Hogan double, much to the annoyance of TIger. Newkirk looked at his CO.

"Gotta run, all of us. The Jerries won't wait."

"What happened?"

Newkirk gave Cole a blank look then quickly mentioned Marya's visit and how he and Marya had come to stop the Gestapo. "But this is Papa Bear," Tiger exclaimed. Newkirk sighed at Marya's smirk.

"We need to go," he repeated.

"Will you be all right?" Cole asked. Newkirk nodded. "Everyone go. Don't return home unless you know it's safe. Did we hear bombs?"

"The road," Newkirk said. "To stop any trucks from leaving. Our car is on the other side."

A wiry woman, barely taller than LeBeau, with close cropped black hair and hard brown eyes, snapped a sentence in Russian to Marya. Marya nodded, let the Hogan double go. "Baba Yaga is right. We have our information and must go. But she wishes to know if we know the traitor."

Newkirk nodded. Tiger looked at him with a frown. "I will go with you," she murmured as people scattered. "To tell you what I know."

"It's me, Newkirk."

For the first time since they entered the barn, Newkirk looked at the Hogan doppelganger. His heart gave a painful squeeze but he had known this would happen. _Hogan is dead. _"You're nothing but a cheap copy," he muttered.

"Let's go," Cole ordered. "We'll straighten this out later."

Back outside, Newkirk found Carter beside him as Cole hastily inspected the bodies. "Your knee?"

"It'll be fine , mate. Where were you when we started shooting?"

"Everyone decided to wait until the shooting was over. We watched Ho--, um, you know, he could be him, Newkirk."

"No, it isn't." Carter fell silent.

Cole gestured and the men left, Tiger and Marya following.

At Marya's car, Marya slid behind the wheel. "I can take Hogan," she purred. "And my small one."

"Oui," LeBeau said eagerly.

"Later, Casanova," Cole said. "Newkirk, go back with Marya. Have Kinch be on alert."

"Already done."

Newkirk let Marya drive this time. As they neared the gates, she stopped and Newkirk got out. He headed for the trunk and slowly made his way down the ladder. Kinch waited for him. "What happened?"

"We got there in time. The others should be here soon. They have that ruddy look alike too."

"Wow. Gestapo?"

"Dead."

"Hochstetter?" Kinch watched Newkirk closely.

"Uber dead."

"You ok?"

"Me knee hurts a bit as does my head."

"I have coffee and tea."

For the first time that night, Newkirk's lips relaxed into a smile. "You are a blessing, Kinch, old man. How are you?" He poured a cup of tea and sipped slowly.

"Better now. So what's going on?"

Newkirk quickly filled him in. They both looked up as the ladder rattled. The others came down, the Hogan clone between Carter and Tiger. Cole dusted his hands, nodded to Kinch. "Everything all right?"

"Nerve racking but all right. What are we doing, sir?"

"Holding tight." Cole glanced at 'Hogan'. "You remember your former CO?"

Kinch gazed at the man. "It's good," he said.

"Hi, Kinch, it's me."

Kinch frowned and his shoulders tensed. "Sounds like him."

"Colonel Hogan is dead," Newkirk snapped. "Do we have to go through this again?"

"It is Robert," Tiger said. "Believe me, I know!" She laid a hand on 'Hogan's' shoulder. "The Gestapo had him. He came to me after he escaped. We contacted London, they told him to work with the Underground instead of returning here, for a little while at least. I asked him questions, tested him."

Cole glanced at LeBeau then Newkirk. "You men know him best."

"Hogan's dead. This man is fake," Newkirk snapped.

"I can tell you about growing up in Connecticut," the man said. "Serving in the Air Corps. I can tell you about coming here after being shot down and some of our missions. Like the Gonkulator."

Eyes widened and Newkirk carefully sipped his tea. The others all quickly looked at him and he shrugged. "Tell us about going to Paris."

'Hogan' looked briefly confused, glanced at Tiger. "He does not remember everything," Tiger defended. "The Gestapo hurt him."

"Well that's ruddy convenient," Newkirk snorted. "What's the name of Carter's mouse?"

Again the man looked confused. "Jack? Look, guys, I'm sorry I don't know everything. I remember certain things."

"Roll call in 15!" came a yell.

"Damn," Cole growled. He looked at Tiger. "Will you guard him, Tiger? This isn't Hogan, no matter what you think."

"I'll watch him until you come back down."

"Major, I'm Colonel Hogan."

"Sorry, Colonel. We'll ship you to London, let them bother with you."

The men scrambled into the barracks and prepared for roll call.


	26. Chapter 26

The men scrambled into the barracks. LeBeau squeezed Newkirk's shoulder. He'd seen Newkirk favoring his leg and he'd also seen the dead soldiers in a loose heap. At roll call, he watched his friend stare blankly at Schultz, lost in his own head. Major Cole immediately headed into the barracks after role call, taking Kinch with him. LeBeau urged Newkirk aside, sat him on a bench. "Are you all right, _mon ami_?"

"Not really, Louie." Newkirk squinted at the rising sun. "I just can't seem to get past the gov'nor's death. Every time I think I'm over him, something comes right back to kick me in the teeth."

"It may be..." LeBeau stopped at Newkirk's glare. "So it is not him. I am sorry."

"Got Hochstetter," Newkirk said offhandly.

"That is good!' LeBeau felt a grin curve his lips. Then, observing his friend closely, he asked "You are upset?"

Newkirk jerked and shook his head. "Oh, no, I'm not upset. Rather the opposite."

"You feel happy he is dead."

"No. Yes." Newkirk sighed. Then he looked closely at his friend. "I feel a lot of things. And that scares me some, Louie. I could see myself enjoying killing."

"It is war, Pierre."

"No, it's me. I mean I could really like killing. It's payback for Rob, for bombing England, but also because it feeds something in me, fills a hole or two. Never mind. I'm just nattering on."

LeBeau felt his throat tighten. "Newkirk, you are a good man. You would not simply kill for no reason."

Newkirk shot him an odd look. "You're the good man, LeBeau. Don't think I'm the same way." He stood up. "Mon. Let's go see about our guest and hope Marya or Tiger 'asn't let him loose."

"They are sure it's Colonel Hogan."

"We spent over two years with him, every ruddy day and night. I think we know him better."

In the barracks, Major Cole gestured to Newkirk and sent LeBeau down below. "Let's take a walk, Corporal." Newkirk warily looked at him but reluctantly followed. In the compound Major Cole glanced at him sidelong then sighed. "Carter and Kinch say you're the one who'd know if this was Hogan." Newkirk shrugged. "Newkirk, I heard you calling out for Rob when you were injured."

_Damn and double damn_. Newkirk nodded. "I was out of my mind, Major."

"Please. Just stop. You and Hogan had some perverted--liaisons. I'm not happy with that but as someone said, it's not the main focus here. You've done some decent work despite your inclinations and did things I thought only real men could do." Newkirk forced his fingers to unclench. "I just want you to do two things. A. Find out if this is Hogan and B. once this war is over, you leave the military. Immediately. Your type is disruptive, to say the least. In return, I won't mention anything, not even to your new CO who should arrive here next week. Oh, and stay away from Carter."

Newkirk bit down on his lip so hard, he tasted blood. "Always boils down to this, doesn't it?" he said softly. "And you're welcome for saving your bloody neck last night."

"I expect any of my men to do that, even you."

"But you would have thanked them."

"It's your job, Corporal. It's what you signed on for. I also saw the Kraut soldiers last night. I'm going to have to find a way to explain Hochstetter's death and why all those soldiers were executed."

"I made sure the Underground and us were protected. That's my job, too."

"You couldn't have simply thrown a grenade?"

"No, Major. Marya and I did what we had to."

"And using Marya. That woman is a menace."

"The others were needed here. If we had to make a run for it, Kinch is the one to organize it. " Newkirk felt a throbbing in his temple. "I'll talk to our impostor."

"And make sure that's all you do."

Newkirk ground his teeth.

In his lab, Carter carefully measure ingredients to make more smoke bombs. He heard footsteps and glanced up at Newkirk. "Hey, buddy."

"Hey." Newkirk watched him, looking uncharacteristically somber.

"You all right?"

"Doesn't matter."

Carter put down his beaker and looked at Newkirk. "Newkirk?"

"Just Major Cole."

"Yeah. He seems a bit worried."

"How was the meeting?"

Carter grinned. "Less than a week, Newkirk. The invasion starts and we'll be home before you know it." Newkirk nodded but didn't smile. Carter pressed on. "Think of it! We'll all be home, having good food and ice cream sodas and doing what we always wanted to do."

"Ah, Carter, my country 'as to rebuild just like the rest of Europe. We got bombed remember? And not just one bloody base."

"I know but the US will help. Think, you can open your pub."

"Not really what I want anymore."

"Then what? Are you going to stay in the military?"

"No. I'm thinking of taking up hunting."

"You_ like_ animals, Newkirk."

"I'm not talking about animals, Carter." Carter looked baffled. "Never mind. I just have to see what comes."

"At least, there won't be Nazis."

"You 'onestly think all this will just vanish?" Newkirk gestured. "The Nazis are always going to be with us, mate, whether they lose or not."

"Boy, you're cheery," Kinch grunted as he came in. "You want some coffee?"

"Sure."

Carter worriedly looked at Kinch. "Is, um, the Hogan double still talking?"

"Yeah. God, he sounds like the Colonel. And he does know some things. I'm starting to wonder."

"He's dead," Newkirk snapped.

"Then you talk to him," Kinch snapped back.

"I ruddy have to. Cole ordered me to find out."

Carter and Kinch exchanged long looks. "He knows?' Carter asked softly.

"He guessed. But he'll won't report me as long as I behave myself." Newkirk gulped his coffee.

"Sorry," Carter muttered.

"Not your fault. Look, I better talk to the Kraut."

Newkirk found Hogan's double sipping coffee while LeBeau watched over him. Tiger slept on a nearby cot. "How's it going, LeBeau?"

"All right. It is odd. He knows some things but not others."

"Right. Well Major Cole wants us to see if it is or isn't. Either way, he'll go to London. So, Fritz or Hans, whoever you are, strip."

The man stilled. "What?"

"Strip."

"Newkirk, it's me."

"Just take your clothes off," Newkirk sighed.

"I have new scars."

"Not interested in the new ones, mate."

LeBeau and Newkirk watched as the man quickly divested himself of clothes. LeBeau gestured to Newkirk who sighed and strolled forward. He looked for the scar across Hogan's shoulder and cocked an eyebrow. A raw, long new scar rested across his shoulder, as if the skin had been removed. Newkirk quickly noted a few more raw spots. "Bloody hell, were you skinned?"

"The Gestapo..."

"Christ, mate, I understand love of one's country and all that but you let them skin you? Are you balmy?"

Newkirk reached out and ran a hand over the man's back. Muscles quivered under his touch. _Gestapo are ruddy smart. They've removed this bloke's skin in areas where the gov had prominent scars. They don't know all the scars, however._

Newkirk felt for a thin scar he knew well, just under the bottom left rib. The man jerked under his fingers but then stilled. Newkirk didn't feel the scar and removed his hand quickly. He stepped around to the man's front. "So, who are you really? Hans or Fritz?"

"I told you who I am, Newkirk."

LeBeau looked at Newkirk. "Well, I guess London can sort out this mess," Newkirk snapped. "You aren't Hogan, mate."

"But he is," Tiger drowsily said as she came over and sat beside the man. "You must believe me, this is Robert."

"Tiger, it's not," Newkirk said as the doppelganger dressed.

"It is. What does he have to do to prove it?"

"Why are you so convinced he is?" Newkirk said. "He has huge so called holes in his memories. He looks like Hogan but he's not. He's a Gestapo spy."

"No Gestapo agent would help us with what he has."

"If Pierre says it is not Colonel Hogan, it is not Colonel Hogan," LeBeau said.

"But he is!"

"Tiger, it's all right." The man patted Tiger's hand. "Look, the worst that is going to happen is I get sent to London and then back here. My men are just doing what they have to."

Newkirk cocked his head then pulled out a deck of cards. "Come on, Fritz, let's play some poker."

The man played decently and Newkirk thought he was getting an idea on how this Hogan double actually worked. _Can't believed I missed it. He's ruddy looking for tells, like that old gypsy lady at the circus. I should have guessed this long ago. But part of me wanted to believe as well..._While his stomach tightened, outwardly he smiled and continued playing.

LeBeau watched Newkirk that whole day. He didn't miss Major Cole's continual gaze nor the smoldering annoyance between the two men. Something was there that hadn't been there before, a simmering tension that spoke of ugliness. Other men seemed to feel it as well and constant bickering took place, snippy comments and friendly jostles that were far harder than they were friendly. Kinch shook his head as he stood by LeBeau. "Not a good day."

"Not at all," LeBeau agreed. "Everyone is edgy."

"Especially Newkirk and Cole."

"I do not know what the problem is ." LeBeau glanced up at his tall friend. "You do not think the Major has guessed about Pierre?"

Kinch sighed. "Newkirk says he knows. I'm surprised because I thought if the Major suspected Newkirk was homosexual, Newkirk would be gone."

Newkirk strolled over, shoulders rigid. "Hey," he said, awkwardly lighting a cigarette.

"Hey, yourself. The Major still uptight?" Kinch asked.

"He ruddy thinks I'm contaminating you all, especially Carter." Newkirk blew smoke.

"How did he find out?" LeBeau hissed.

Newkirk's lips tightened. "Heard me calling when I was hurt and that was that."

Kinch exhaled. "So now what?"

"Like I told you, I've been told if I'm a good lad and don't molest anyone, I won't be tossed out on my ear. And he won't tell the new CO. Oh, and as soon as the war is over, I'm to say good bye to the military. I'm not good enough."

Kinch flinched while LeBeau muttered. All three jerked as Wilson came over. "Come on, Newkirk, lets check that arm."

Newkirk shrugged and went with him.

LeBeau looked at Kinch. "I will talk to Major Cole," he said.

"About what, LeBeau? Cole's actually being better than I thought he would be.'

"What?"

"LeBeau, no military wants people like Newkirk. He doesn't like it anyway. Least this way he's safe and we don't have to worry about it."

"You think it is fair?" LeBeau spat out. "Newkirk is our friend."

"And he's not normal." Kinch's voice dropped. "I know he's a good man but damn it, LeBeau, he's still a liability. We walk on eggshells because of his inclinations."

"We walk on eggshells because his heart was broken and he was tortured," LeBeau retorted, face flushing.

"And who's fault was that? He could have fallen in love with a woman just like everybody else here."

"You are an imbecile." LeBeau glared at Kinch. "It is not like that. People can not pick or choose whom they love."

"Of course they can," Kinch snapped. "Don't see me running after white women, do you?"

LeBeau jerked. "Who has stopped you?"

"It's not acceptable, LeBeau, not allowed."

"By who?" LeBeau rolled his eyes. "Americans."

"We Americans are here saving your butts."

"After how long? The only reason you joined in was because of Pearl Harbor."

"Hey, hey!"

Carter pushed the two men apart. "What is wrong with everybody? For Pete's sake, Major Cole is all fussy and now you two are spitting like a couple of cats and dogs. Who can be really good friends, actually, so it's a stupid expression but that's not the point. What are you arguing about?'

"Major Cole," Kinch said. "He made Newkirk a fair deal and LeBeau and I disagree about it."

"It is not fair," LeBeau snapped. "It is filthy. Treating Newkirk like a disease."

"He just wants Newkirk to keep his hands to himself."

"Newkirk is not touching anyone!"

Carter stepped again between them. "Tell me what this is all about."

Kinch quickly repeated what Newkirk had said. Carter frowned and looked at both of them. "It's pretty rotten, I agree, LeBeau. Kinch is right in that Major Cole is being kinda fair--he could just have Newkirk tossed out."

"And who will open the safes then? Who will forge for us or sew clothes?"

"Easy, buddy, I know. I'm just saying in a military way, Cole could toss Newkirk out. But it is wrong, Kinch. And--holy cats."

Kinch and LeBeau turned as a truck rolled into the camp, Burkhalter's car in the lead. Klink scurried to meet the General. "Guess we should go have some coffee," Kinch said.

Burkhalter's raging bluster made all the men around the pot cringe. Hochstetter's body and his soldiers had been found and there would be hell to pay. Major Cole growled out a curse and glanced at the men. Newkirk alone looked amused. "I told you this would be a mess," Cole muttered.

"Next time, Kinch and I can leave you to the Gestapo."

"Don't get cute, Newkirk."

"I also have prisoners for you, Klink. A RAF Wing Commander and several of his crew."

"Of course, Herr General."

Major Cole's eyebrows raised and Carter and LeBeau exchanged looks. "Is that our new CO?" Carter asked.

"London didn't send word," Cole said.

"No, sir, they didn't." Kinch looked troubled.

"It could just be a captured crew."

"Guess I better see," Cole said in irritation. He stomped out.

"Yeah, he's in a jolly mood," Newkirk muttered. "Good riddance, mate."

"Oui."

"Enough," Kinch ordered. "It's been a bad day for the Major."

"For him?" Newkirk snorted. "Are you joking?'

"Everyone knows you two don't get along," Kinch said. "And I know he's not happy about your affair, Newkirk. Least he hasn't kicked you out."

"Gee and I should be ruddy grateful, right? Next time, I'll let the bleedin' Gestapo have him. I'll just save LeBeau and Carter."

"You yourself have said it wasn't acceptable," Kinch reminded.

"Maybe I expected better," Newkirk spat. "Especially from my mates." He stalked off. LeBeau glared at Kinch and started to follow Newkirk but Carter held up his hand.

"Give him a minute, LeBeau. He's awfully sore."

"And he has a reason to be mad." LeBeau scowled at the wall.

"I know." Carter looked older than he ever had before. "And Major Cole is wrong. Newkirk is just a regular guy."

He frowned at Kinch's raised eyebrow. "I mean it, Kinch. He's never made any move on anyone here that I know of and it isn't fair of Major Cole to accuse him."

Kinch nodded. "True."

"So let's just get through the next few days and see what our new CO is like."

"How is our guest?" LeBeau asked.

"OK. Still insisting he's the Colonel. And Tiger says so too."

"Could Newkirk be wrong?" Kinch mused aloud. "I mean could it be?" A hopeful note entered his voice.

"London will make sure," LeBeau said.

Carter slipped outside where he found Newkirk near the kennels, secretly scratching Heidi's ears. "Hey."

"What do you want, Carter?"

"Just saying hi. Ah, hi."

"Hi."

"You say it's not Hogan."

"It's not."

"Then why send him to London?"

"Because maybe a part of me wants to ruddy believe somehow he could be alive." Newkirk stood up, looked at Carter. "He's not Colonel Hogan, I know."

"I know you don't believe in a lot but my grandmother was really upset when my grandfather died. One morning, however, she saw a stag just watching her and she realized that Grandpa would come back for her. See, he'd always compared them to a stag and doe and usually they didn't see deer much but this one came right into her yard, so she knew it was Grandpa, kinda."

"That's nice," Newkirk said noncommittally. "Thank you for what you're saying Andrew."

Carter knew he hadn't reached his friend. He sighed and gently punched Newkirk's shoulder. "Come on and meet the new CO. If it's him."

Newkirk shrugged. "Why not? Another officer."

In the tunnels that night, the command crew watched for Major Cole and the Wing Commander. Eyebrows raised as Wing Commander Jack Turner came into view. Slightly taller than Major Cole, the lean man was also older, strands of silver in his dark hair. "Men, this is Wing Commander Jack Turner, your new CO," Major Cole said. He introduced the men.

"Hi. Sorry about the early arrival. London just needs Major Cole fast." Turner smiled.

"Pleasure to meet you, sir," Carter said. "Were you shot down?"

"The Jerries think so. Actually, I was added to that group once it became known they were being assigned here." He glanced around. "Frankly, I'm astonished. I was briefed but this is incredible."

"Thank you," Major Cole said.

After brief discussions, Major Cole took Turner on a tour of the tunnels. Kinch fiddled with the radio. "He seems all right."

"Guess we'll find out," Newkirk said.

"You should like him," a strange voice said. Group Captain Wellston strolled down the tunnel.

"Geez, do we have any lookouts?' Carter blurted.

"I'm used to sneaking around, Sergeant. Jack made it then? Good." Wellston smiled. "He's a bit unorthodox but Jack should fit in well with you, I hope."

"We will see," LeBeau said.

Wellston handed a piece of paper to Kinch. "Here is my number at Gestapo HQ and my radio call signal. If a serious situation develops, call."

"Serious situations always develop," Kinch responded.

"Use your judgement." Wellston glanced at the men. "You're better, Newkirk?"

"Fine, mate."

"Well, get ready to be busier." Wellston stretched. "I'll be taking Major Cole in the morning. Or rather, Schuberg will."

"Why Turner?" LeBeau asked.

"He's quick thinking, thoughtful, and an all around scoundrel. Besides, he volunteered and he is familiar with multi-national units."

"Be different having an Englishman in charge," Carter said.

"Actually he's a dual Canadian/British citizen. Spent the last fifteen years in the RAF, however. " Wellston smiled gratefully at LeBeau who handed him a cup of coffee. "Thank you, Corporal."

"So if you're taking Cole, who's taking our prisoner?' Newkirk asked.

Wellston looked baffled. "Prisoner?"

"Colonel Hogan's double," Kinch replied.

"Hochstetter's plant? You caught him? Hochstetter will be furious."

"You want to field that one, Newkirk?" Kinch asked.

Newkirk rolled his eyes and gave a hurried rundown of the previous night. Wellston listened, eyes intent on Newkirk. Then he pursed his lips. "Hochstetter dead. That changes the game a bit. Gestapo HQ must be buzzing. You have Hochstetter's man, though? Hogan's lookalike?"

"He needs to go to London." Kinch touched the radio.

"Can the Underground take him?"

"As long as Tiger doesn't become too besotted with him," Newkirk said.

"I can take care of him," came Tiger's voice. "We will get him to London. He can get better medical care there, anyway." She glared at Newkirk. "You are angry because he did not tell you he was back."

"It's not Hogan," Newkirk snapped. "And I won't say it again."

"It is."

Wellston looked disturbed. "Perhaps you can speak to him," LeBeau suggested.

"I better not. If he somehow gets loose, it would be better if he did not recognize me." Wellston swallowed. "You're sure it's not him?"

"Yes," Newkirk quietly said. Wellston nodded and looked briefly at the wall. Yet a sudden call of "Nigel!" brought a smile to his face and he stepped over to talk to Turner and Cole.

When Wellston finally took his leave, it was late. To his surprise, he found Carter waiting for him. "Sergeant?"

"Group Captain, I know you're not Colonel Hogan but could you, um, send word that I'd kinda like to do what you do?"

"You lost me, Carter."

"I want to help the government, make things and keep doing work like this. I know the war will be over but I still would like to help. I mean, I want to visit home but I really want to help and since I don't have a girl, I am pretty free."

Wellston blinked. _This is a shock._ "I'll help," he said. "After the war, Carter, you ask for General Davies and we'll get you started. If I don't make it, still ask for Davies and Group captain Roberts. They'll help."

"You mean that?"

"It's a promise."

"Great! See you later today, sir."

"Good night, Carter."

The morning brought both Wellston and Major Cole's leaving. Wing Commander Turner was in the cooler awaiting delousing and debriefing along with his men. Kinch, Olson, Parks and Newkirk played poker wile Carter swept the barracks and LeBeau muttered over his spices. "Just think," Olson lazily said. "Supposedly the invasion is near at hand and then we all head home. I can't wait. I can go back to selling cars with my dad."

"I can go back to making tractors," Parks said. "How about you, Kinch?"

"I don't know. I used to be a plumber's assistant. Or maybe I can get into electronics."

"You can help rebuild Paris, Kinch." LeBeau grinned.

"That's a bit of a commute from Detroit," Kinch said.

"How about you, Andrew?"

"I'm going to stay in the military."

The men exchanged looks. "What?" LeBeau asked. "But you have a pharmacy."

"I know but Dad and Mom are running it and I kinda want to keep doing what I'm doing."

"The war will be over, Andrew," Olson said. "You can't blow up other things."

"War's never over," Newkirk said. "There'll alway be something to blow up. Once this ends, there'll be more."

"God, Newkirk, you are the most cynical bastard," Parks said mildly. "Your pub will be a real fun spot."

"Not doing that," Newkirk said, studying his cards. "I'm going to travel a bit, see the world."

"Haven't you seen enough?" Kinch asked.

"No. This little exercise has me interested in broadening my horizons. Haven't ever visited the States. Might stop there and wander a bit. Footloose and fancy free, mate."

LeBeau bit his lip and Carter studiously swept. He opened the senior POWs quarters and began cleaning it. LeBeau entered and put clean sheets on the bunks. "It's weird not to have Major Cole," Carter said.

"I know. You are not used to it, Carter but before Colonel Hogan, we went through a number of officers."

"Yeah, I've heard about them."

Carter swept, stopping only when LeBeau swore softly in French. "What is it?"

"Nothing important, Carter. I cut my finger on the board."

"You won't pass out, will you?'

"It is not that bad."

"What did you cut yourself on?'

"Bottom bunk."

Carter looked under the bottom bunk. Dusty, rough wood boards and the jagged end of a nail showed where LeBeau may have cut himself. Carter frowned. "Get me a flashlight, LeBeau."

"A what? Never mind." LeBeau walked off then came back in. "Why you cannot call it a torch like normal countries," he muttered. "What do you see?"

Carter shined the light through the dust. "A split running through one of the boards under here. A nail came out."

"That is it? Will it break?"

"I don't think so...Wait a minute."

Carter shined the flashlight on the bed slats again, tilting his head. Was the board splitting or...? He ran his fingers over the board, finding an almost imperceptible crack. He dug in his pocket for a knife and pried at the crack. The board split almost soundlessly and Carter realized that the board was in fact, two thin boards glued together, Between the cracks, carefully wrapped in plastic, was a long envelope with the words Last Mission on it.

In Colonel Hogan's handwriting.


	27. Chapter 27

The four men sat around the small table. Kinch carefully opened the letter, noting all the men leaning forward.

_ Well, men_

_ If you're reading this, I'm no longer alive. I'm guessing you found this or Wilson actually remembers I told him about this. Don't get mad if he doesn't--he was pretty out of it and I figure you're smart enough that you'll find it sometime before the war ends! The first thing is for me to tell you all thank you. It's been an extreme honor to be your leader. You've all done more than anyone could or should have thought of asking from his men. Thank you. _

_ I do have a few last orders. First of all, survive. Make it through this war so you can all go home. You'll have to stick together more than ever now. I know you'll give any new leader a fair shake. Whatever he's like, stick together. You need each other. You'll need to watch the camp and the other men. As for the new leader, he doesn't need to know about this letter._

_Final orders: Everyone of you need to take a different file and study it. Memorize it inside and out. then choose another and do it again. Do this with as many as you can. You all need to have information just in case. I'm sure our governments will treat you fairly but sometimes back up is nice to have. This is a precaution I hope none of you will ever need. And I mean know these files. Times, dates, names, faces. Kinch, you've the best memory and you are going to be the one to debrief London on all we've done. Memorize all you can. Quiz each other. LeBeau, have routes planned throughout the countryside. If the operation has to close suddenly, you'll need as much planned beforehand as possible. Have numerous routes plotted. Carter, you'll need to have smoke bombs, grenades, and various small bombs ready. Keep a bag packed at all times. You may need to flee at a moment's notice. Also, have the tunnels wired to blow as well. Newkirk, have uniforms ready, Luftwaffe and Abwehr. Gestapo might be risky but just in case have some of them as well. There are a few men in London who'll be in your corner no matter what. General Davies, Group Captains Roberts and Wellston and Major Duncan. Know these names as well, all of you. Ask for them if you have to and demand to speak only to them if needed._

_ You are going to be learning things about this war, yourselves, and even me that you never wanted to know. Some will be surprising, a lot will be nightmarish. I'm just getting wind of some foul things and frankly, it makes me sick. It also makes me determined to win. If you find out more, if you hear rumors from the guards or other Krauts, let London know. Believe me, you will know what I'm talking about. I can't tell you how sorry I am that I can't finish this with you. Honestly, I'd hoped we'd all finish together. Since we can't, do it for me._

_ I have one last mission. In here, you'll find a letter to my family. Newkirk, I'd like you to take it to Connecticut. If you fall, I know one of the others can take it but you'd especially love my mom's lemon cake. Remember me once in a while and thanks again for being the best unit I could ask for._

_Take care of each other._

_Robert Hogan_

Carter quietly handed Newkirk a sealed envelope. Newkirk nodded. "What's that?" he asked.

"Just a blank piece of paper," Carter said, handing it to Newkirk. "It was wrapped around the envelope." He shifted weight. "Newkirk, if you don't want to deliver it, I will. I mean, since Kinch and I are gonna be in the States anyway."

"I'll do it. The gov asked me to." Newkirk tucked the letter away. "I better get the tunnel area cleaned for the new CO." He slipped out of the room. LeBeau watched him go with a worried expression. Kinch carefully ran his fingers over the letter, his face filling with sadness.

In the tunnel, Newkirk carefully took the blank sheet of paper. He held it near a lightbulb and then smiled as brownish letters appeared. _Huh. Clever, Rob. Lemon cake. Sure I like it but I knew you meant you'd written me a letter. _

_ Dear Peter,_

_ I'm entrusting you with one last mission, to deliver my letter to my family. I need you to tell them I died fighting for what I believed in and for what I love. I don't think you'll be able to give them details but try the best you can to reassure them that I chose to do what I did._

_ You're angry and probably hate the world, hate it more than you did before. I'm sorry, Peter, sorry I can't share the future with you. Believe me if I could be there, I would be. We've spent incredible times together although never enough. I cherished every moment and always wanted more. I hope you relish those memories as well. I know you never believed in an afterlife or a god. Hell, it took a long time for you to believe in me. I understand that. I do fervently hope that somehow, someway, I can come back and convince you. If you can't believe in anything else, believe in what we had. Trust that something survives death and that I'll wait for you. And although we never said it, believe I love you._

_Rob_

Newkirk shook quietly, felt tears burning in his eyes. He folded the letter, placed it in his box, then began pulling his psychic armor back together. Bit by bit he shoved his pain, rage, and hurt deep inside himself and sealed it off just like his nightmares. He closed the book and carefully put it away. His arm ached as did his knee and he slowly walked to the uniform alcove. There he spied LeBeau and their prisoner, the prisoner on the bunk, LeBeau pacing. LeBeau looked at him. "Are you hungry, Newkirk?"

"I'm all right. When does Hans here leave anyway?'"

"Tonight. I need to get some lunch made. Can you watch him?'

"Sure."

LeBeau left and Newkirk pulled out a cigarette. The prisoner frowned.

"Always you, Newkirk," he sighed. "You're the worst you know. You can't believe I'm me."

"You're not Hogan."

The man looked frustrated. "What will it take to convince you?"

Newkirk slowly put the cigarette away. He walked to the man, stared down at him. Then Newkirk reached down, grasped the man's shirt, and yanked him to his feet. With a smooth move that wrenched all the muscles in his arm and back, he slammed the other man into the tunnel wall and with the same brutality, crushed his mouth on his.

The impostor smelled faintly of combined sweat, smoke, and a trace of soap. With the ease of long practice, Newkirk forced open his mouth and plundered it. After a long minute, he moved his lips to the man's ear. "And _that's_ how I know you're not Colonel Hogan, mate. 'E would have kissed me back."

The man stared at him, scrubbed his mouth viciously with a hand. Newkirk felt him shaking. "I said I didn't remember everything," he hissed.

"You're not Hogan."

"I was startled."

Newkirk shoved the man harder against the wall, cursing his injured arm. "Want to try again, Fritz?" he whispered, lips inches from the prisoner's mouth. "Do you really want to play this game?"

"Get off me," the other man said softly.

"But you're Hogan, remember?" Newkirk breathed on the man's neck.

"Newkirk!"

Kinch grabbed Newkirk's collar and yanked backwards. Newkirk stumbled into Kinch's chest, letting the prisoner go. "What are you doing?" Kinch demanded.

"Proving this isn't Hogan."

"Come with me," Kinch ordered. "You sit there," he snapped at the prisoner and pointed at the bunk. "And be still." He pushed Newkirk to the side. "What are you thinking? Have you lost your mind?!"

"I didn't hurt him."

"We don't molest the prisoners either!"

A light flared in Newkirk's eye, eerily like the sheen on metal. "Don't you dare," Newkirk said. "He's the one claiming to be Hogan."

"You have a second chance, Newkirk," Kinch said. "Make a choice. We have a new CO, one who's even British. You have the chance to be a soldier, a fighter, leave all that other stuff behind. You can be normal!"

Newkirk tilted his head. "You really still don't get it, do you, mate? It's what I am, who I am."

"You can choose another path. Are you honestly going to live like this all your life?" Kinch stared at his friend.

"Kinch, I'm all right."

"You're kissing prisoners. That's so far from all right, it's practically a trip to the moon."

Newkirk stilled, so quiet Kinch could feel his his heart beating. "I'm going to be fine," Newkirk said finally, quiet and calm. "You don't need to worry about me. Now 'ow about letting me go so I work on uniforms, mate?"

"No more kissing?"

"Promise."

Kinch let him go, shaking his head.


	28. Chapter 28

Before evening roll call, Kinch went to find Newkirk. He really didn't know what to say, he just knew he had to try to find out exactly drove his prickly friend. Kinch knew he wasn't a genius--none of the team were except maybe in very specialized areas. But he did feel awkward with Newkirk as LeBeau and Carter never seemed to be. And before the new CO could see the team unravel, he intended to knit up his end. _You'll have to stick together more than ever now. _He had to take those words to heart. Besides, crazy or not, this was a team and Newkirk was his friend.

Newkirk sat in the uniform area, staring at a piece of paper. "You all right?' Kinch asked.

Newkirk looked up at him and Kinch inwardly winced again at the fog colored eye. "Why wouldn't I be?" Newkirk asked.

"Writing home?"

"Thinking about it."

"You haven't written home for awhile, have you?'

"What do I say, Kinch? 'Having a ruddy good time here, sis. Lost me CO, my lover, and my eye. See you soon'."

"You haven't written since Colonel Hogan died?"

Newkirk shrugged. "Nothing to say, not really. I scribbled a line or two." He carefully tucked the paper into his jacket, glared at the cast. "Can't wait until this is off."

"Peter, I hope you understand what I was saying. I want you to have a normal life, to be happy."

Newkirk exhaled. "You don't understand yet. James, I'm me. I can't choose to be with a woman because I don't like them in the same way you or Louie or Andrew does. It's not in me. Oh, I can play the game--I can laugh, dance, and flirt with the best, even have a good shag with a woman now and then. But it's not --right. I like men." Newkirk noted Kinch's baffled look and tried again. "It's like being a zebra among horses. You can cover up the stripes, make it look like a horse, but under whatever dye you put on it, the zebra is still a zebra. You can raise it as a horse, it may even think it's a horse but it's not. You can't make it a horse."

Kinch sat down beside him. "You're saying you don't have a choice."

"No more than you had being black, mate."

"Pity you don't believe in God. You could have been a Catholic priest." Kinch smiled. "No women."

"My first male go was a priest." Newkirk chuckled at Kinch's wide eyes. "They are people, you know."

"You debauched a priest?"

"Whoa there, mate. It was more the other way around. 'E was an adult and so was I."

"I think we're heading into an area I don't ever want to think about." Kinch shuddered. "All right then. I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For thinking you had a choice. I'm not saying I'm at ease with what you are but I think I can grasp it better. Besides, we have other things to worry about. Zebra, huh?"

"Me old man used to say I was born to wear stripes."

"I hardly think he thought that would mean you'd be a zebra." Newkirk smiled. "So we're all right?"

"Yeah. I meant what I said, Kinch. Stop worrying. Everyone, stop worrying. I 'ave a mission. Colonel Hogan asked me to deliver that letter and I will. I owe him that."

"OK."

They sat quietly for a moment. "Do you remember what he wrote about rumors and all?" Newkirk asked softly.

"Yes. Report them."

"I 'eard things at Gestapo HQ."

Kinch slowly nodded. "Like what?"

"Bits and pieces. I'm not sure what they mean."

"You told Wilson you didn't remember much of what happened," Kinch said. He waved aside Newkirk's annoyed look. "Yes, I talked to him. Getting info from you is like pulling teeth. How much do you remember?"

Newkirk ran his uninjured hand over a uniform. "All of it."

"That's why you still have nightmares?"

"Who says I have nightmares?"

Kinch looked at Newkirk. "You don't make any noise but you have them," he said. "It's eerie but you twist and turn and knot the blankets."

"You're watching me sleeping and I'm the creepy one?"

"Knock it off. You know what I mean. So what happened?"

"What I heard, you mean?"

"Yes. And what happened to you? I mean, you never talk about it and while I've seen the damage, I think you could use a chance to talk it out."

"No." Newkirk shook his head. "Not that. Look, Kinch, I heard just --weird things. Something about camps and labor and plans to get rid of the waste. Someone mentioned the Final Solution, like it was a bomb or something but it just didn't seem right. And when I was branded, the man who did it spoke about at least I was identified now, that when the time came, they could find me."

"What else did he say?"

Newkirk looked at his arm. "Nothing else important."

"Peter, come one."

Newkirk shook his head. "The rest was insults, mate."

Kinch nodded. He stood, rested a hand on Newkirk's unbranded shoulder. "We need to tell Wing Commander Turner."

"I know."

And Kinch knew Newkirk wasn't going to let any more be said.

Both men turned at a soft "Guys?" Kinch swore and Newkirk rose to his feet. The Hogan impostor stood behind Carter, a knife at Carter's throat.

"Call this number or he dies," the man growled. Carter held a paper out to Kinch, eyes filled with fear and anger.

"So I guess you're not Colonel Hogan then," Newkirk said.

"I am Otto von Dremmer. Gestapo. Call the number or he dies right now."

Kinch grabbed the paper. "We don't have a phone here."

"Don't be stupid, Kinch. I'm not that jackass Klink. Call now!" Blood began trickling down Carter's throat. Newkirk jerked forward then stopped.

"Don't you dare, Kinch," Carter said. "I'm not that important."

"Just stay calm," Newkirk said. "Easy now, Otto."

"I'll call," Kinch said in a harsh voice.

"NO," Carter yelled.

"Shut up," Von Demmer snarled. "Where's LeBeau?'

"Up above." Newkirk took a step forward as Kinch began hooking up a phone line.

"Stay where you are,_ schwule_."

Newkirk stopped and Carter gave a growl low in his throat. "How'd you get a knife?" Newkirk asked.

"Don't you worry about that."

Kinch slowly dialed a number. "Tell him Otto says to come immediately," Von Dremmer demanded. Kinch nodded and repeated the words precisely, Newkirk and Carter giving Kinch odd looks. Von Dremmer nodded and Kinch hung up the phone.

"He said he'd be here immediately," Kinch said. "He also said sauerkraut." Von Dremmer smiled.

"Good. You have done what you were told." Carter slumped but Newkirk was watching Kinch and swore there was a grim smile behind the words. "We will burn this camp to the ground and hang the lot of you. Except Newkirk. We have special places for filth like you."

'Yeah, yeah, 'eard it all before," Newkirk snapped. "Master race, ubermen, special Aryan privilege. That's why you're ruddy led by a midget Austrian and are getting your bloody arses beat by a group of rag tag POWs including a frenchman, a couple Yanks including a black man and even a schwule."

Von Dremmer glared at him. "You will be torn to bits," he promised.

Kinch leaned against the wall. "This may be a while," he said. He watched Carter who simply stared at him. "You can let Carter go."

"He is my insurance." Von Dremmer shifted his weight. Newkirk looked at Kinch again. Why oh why was Kinch so calm? And Carter looked--broken, a defeated look in his face that made Newkirk's hands curl into fists.

It was quick--just around ten minutes before footsteps thudded in the tunnel. Newkirk turned, fingers slipping to the stiletto in his cast. Then he froze again. "Standartenführer Schuberg!" Von Dremmer exclaimed. He released Carter who simply stood there.

"Von Dremmer. I gave you orders not to reveal yourself." Wellston in his Schuberg identity spoke coldly.

"I have captured Papa Bear's unit!"

"You are an idiot." Wellston stalked past Newkirk who was hiding a smirk. "Did you think I did not know of this group?"

"They were going to ship me to England. I could convince the woman but not them."

"Of course not. They knew Hogan." Wellston pulled off his gloves, slipped his gun from his holster. "I ordered you to never break your role."

"They were going to ship me to England!"

"It is lovely this time of year." Wellston looked at Kinch. "Do you have cuffs?"

"Yes, sir."

Carter looked at Wellston, eyes round. Wellston looked at him then slowly winked as he aimed his gun at Von Dremmer.. Carter sagged and Newkirk moved to hold him up. "Standartenfuhrer!" Von Dremmer gasped.

"Your usefulness ended a while ago," Wellston said in his normal British voice. "But you do have knowledge the Allies could use." Kinch smoothly cuffed the stunned Von Dremmer.

"You are German! You are Gestapo!"

"Not exactly," Wellston said. "Are you all right Sergeant Carter?"

"A little rattled, sir. Why didn't you tell us he worked for you?" Carter's voice rose on every word. "We thought.. I mean.."

Wellston looked ashamed. "I convinced him to report to me as well as Hochstetter and follow my orders. After all, I am higher ranked, have family connections. I never planned on having him meet you. He was to aid the Underground, be my eyes on Hochstetter and foil his plans, thinking it was a way to embed himself in deeply with the Underground and in time, expose a huge number of Underground agents. I never knew about all the Underground leaders meeting nor that you would kill Hochstetter and catch Otto."

"I could not reach you in time about the meeting," Von Dremmer snarled. "Tiger watched me as did the crazy Russian."

"You should have told us," Newkirk said. "After we caught him. You wouldn't even look at him."

"I couldn't. You surprised me and I needed to get to Gestapo HQ to take advantage of Hochstetter's death. Otto is very good at what he does, I knew the Underground would accept him. So I moved him into the best position I could to protect the Underground units and you. You men were never supposed to be involved."

"Like a chess piece," Kinch said softly.

"Except we have feelings," Carter angrily said. "Heck, I almost thought it was Colonel Hogan. We're not toy soldiers."

"Carter," Kinch warned.

"I know." Wellston studied Carter, stared him in the eye. "It's my job, Carter. I'm here to learn all I can and exploit every weakness of the enemy, to use what and who I can to cause as much havoc as I can. You men were never supposed to meet Otto. I am sorry. Not sorry I used him, sorry you men had to be in the crossfire."

"Why didn't you speak up, Fritzie?" Newkirk asked.

"I had orders," Von Dremmer snarled.

"You used Tiger." LeBeau came down the hall. Wellston turned and nodded.

"Yes, I did. Tell me, Corporal, what would you have done, what will you do for France?"

LeBeau jerked and bit his lip. "I see," he said softly. "Oui, I understand."

"I had planned to tell you sometime after Otto was in England." Wellston turned as a yell came from above.

"Roll call," LeBeau said. "Turner should be joining us."

"Will you watch him?" Kinch asked.

"Of course. I'll be here for awhile. Have Wing Commander Turner join us. Is Otto leaving tonight?"

"He's supposed to, "Carter said. "Tiger is coming for him."

"Good."

After roll call the men rejoined Wellston, Turner with them and Olson watching out up above. Turner listened carefully as Wellston filled him in, the men adding comments now and then. "It's a dirty trick, Group Captain," Turner said, voice tight.

"It's a dirty war."

"My men aren't here to be used."

"I explained that." Wellston shifted weight. "They got caught in the crossfire. I'm sorry."

"All right." Turner looked at Newkirk. "You said you heard things at Gestapo HQ?'

"Yes, sir. The Final Solution. Think it may be a bomb or so. Colonel Hogan said we should always find out about rumors, see what's behind them. I remembered it today," Newkirk lied.

Wellston paled to the color of bone.


	29. Chapter 29

"Nigel?" Turner asked in alarm.

"It is a bomb," LeBeau muttered.

"Not, not exactly." Wellston sat down,, looking old. "Far worse. I only know part of the story."

"So what is it?" Carter asked, handing Wellston a mug of coffee,

Wellston looked at Turner. "They shouldn't hear this."

"Hey, we're the ones ruddy putting our lives on the line. We deserve to know what's going on," Newkirk snapped.

"He's right," Turner agreed and Newkirk lifted an eyebrow.

"What is it?" Carter asked, staring at Wellston.

"Exactly what it says," Wellston said. "Final. Solution." He sipped his coffee slowly.

"Just spit it out," Turner said.

"Death for the Jewish race. Actually for all undesirables but especially Jews. The Reich will be Jew free."

"There are millions of Jews in Europe," Turner said.

Wellston looked at all the men. "The Nazis are very efficient." He spoke lightly yet his face was stone. The men all looked at each other then back at him.

"Are you saying the Nazis are murdering civilians?" Turner demanded in a tight voice.

"Yes."

"Why?" Kinch asked.

"They're unwanted," Wellston explained. "Jews. Gypsies. Political prisoners. Homosexuals. Anyone the Reich does not approve of. They're identified, marked, sent to labor camps and usually die there."

"But these are just rumors, right?" Carter asked.

Wellston slowly shook his head. "They started years ago," he said quietly, fingers tight around his cup. "The mentally ill, the deformed, the invalid--they killed them first. The Reich has no need of useless mouths to feed."

"How many?" Kinch asked.

"I don't know exact numbers," Wellston said.

"Guess," Turner demanded.

Wellston appeared be calculating numbers. "Three, four million by now. Maybe more." He rubbed his head. "I've heard of other numbers, other plans, where people go into camps and are killed outright."

"Three million civilians," Kinch repeated numbly.

"Can we liberate the camp?" Turner asked.

"Camp?" Wellston repeated. He gave a short, bitter laugh. "There is no camp, Jack. It's camps. Plural. I know of ten at least and I'm sure there's more. They're all over German controlled Europe. Mainly in the East."

"Does London know?" LeBeau asked softly.

"They know. I've sent what I could but realize I have no photos, no exact details. I know the rough locations. As for the plans, no, I don't know that. I know the name. Like Newkirk does. Gestapo Muller mentioned it once where I could hear and I've put together fragments."

"So what do we do?" Carter demanded.

"Nothing," Wellston said harshly. "The invasion will take place any day now. We can do nothing more for these people than what we're doing. We'll free the camps when we can."

Carter looked at Turner with pleading in his eyes. "We can try to help," Turner said. "Help the people escape."

"To where?"

"Into the countryside. Some of the Germans will help!" LeBeau suggested.

"That's an idea," Turner said thoughtfully. "We could hide a few here."

"Some with Oskar," Carter suggested.

"The other Germans are the ones who put them there! Do you honestly think the German people don't know? Come on, men, don't be bloody blind. How do you think we Gestapo work? It's not us who are everywhere--the Jerries turn each other in! They know what's happening. These camps are not hidden. I'm sure the average German doesn't know exactly what's going on but they're not asking either. People disappear daily and no one cares. Just forget about the damn camps and be done with it, all right? These are people who, quote 'belong to the Reich'. Or 'deserve to die.""

"People don't belong to other people," Kinch argued. "Or to Hitler or his men." Wellston snorted.

"They do here. Germany comes first."

"And what about us?" Newkirk asked. "A lot of us aren't up to Aryan standards."

"I don't think they'll turn on the POW camps," Wellston said thoughtfully, calming himself. "If they do, they'll certainly go for the Jewish POWs. Also, any they've identified previously."

Carter shot Newkirk a terrified look. "Like Newkirk?"

"Shut up, Carter!"

"What do you mean?" Turner asked.

"They said you belonged to the Reich and they branded you," Carter snapped at Newkirk.

"Branded?" Turner repeated.

"Nothing important, sir." Newkirk glared at Carter.

"Just explain," Turner said.

"I was in Gestapo hands for a bit," Newkirk quickly said.

"And they branded you," Turner said. His face hardened.

"Carter's right. If the Krauts turn on the POWs, they will pick out Newkirk immediately because of those brands. Jewish POWs, anyone who is crippled or ill at the time," Wellston said. He gulped his coffee quickly, as if distracting himself.

"Not a chance." Turner straightened up. "I'll be damned if I let the Jerries go through my men and cull them like sheep for the slaughter! We'll need all the information you can get us. Perhaps the Underground can help some of those poor souls even if we can't."

"I'll try," Wellston said. He stood up. "I have to go. I have an anniversary dinner to attend. Have the Underground get Otto to London."

"Who's anniversary?" Carter asked.

"Schuberg's. My wife is making a special dinner." Wellston straightened his shirt. "I'll get you what I can."

"Who runs these camps?" LeBeau asked.

"Waffen SS troops-the _Totenkopfverbände_." Wellston pulled his gloves back on. "Good luck. I'll talk to you soon." He left quickly.

Alone for the first time with his new command crew, Wing Commander Turner felt their gazes. "Now we know what we're fighting for," he said softly.

"What are we going to do?" Carter asked.

"Continue doing what we can. And win this war."

"And Newkirk?" LeBeau cast a worried look at his friend.

"I'm fine," Newkirk snapped. "And if they ruddy come, I 'll go and you all scarper home."

"You're not my idea of a martyr, Corporal," Turner said, a laugh in his voice. "Besides, I already said none of my men are going to be handed over."

"If they come, sir," Newkirk started.

"Then we'll deal with it. It'll be lights out soon. Let's get moving. We head upstairs and go out tonight. LeBeau, Kinch, you travel with Tiger taking our guest. Newkirk, Carter, and I will look for any downed flyers. Kinch, can you have Baker man the radio?"

"Yes, sir."

"I hope you have blacks to fit me."

"No problem," Newkirk said.

"Then let's go play some cards." Turner gave Carter a friendly nudge. "We're going to win, Carter."

"I guess I was just hoping for a happy ending, sir," Carter said.

"Don't be daft, mate," Newkirk said. "There are no happy endings in real life."

"Newkirk," Kinch groaned.

"Of course there's not, " Turner agreed. "Because nothing ever really ends." He pulled on his cap and grinned. Then he headed up.

"What the heck does that mean?" Carter asked.

"It means he's ruddy balmy too," Newkirk muttered and the men headed topside.


	30. Chapter 30

Over the next few weeks, Wing Commander Turner tried to learn his new men and job. Between the invasion and trying to run a 500 prisoner plus camp and manage the sabotage unit, it was a roller coaster of terror and boredom squeezed in with excitement. He quickly learned to ignore most of Cole's advice--his command crew didn't need constant watching nor coddling. They needed a lot of rein to do their jobs but also a hand to tug them in now and then. He also saw the brands on Newkirk and knew immediately what Nigel had meant. Those marks couldn't be hidden. Newkirk, finally free of his cast, declared he was fully healed and Wilson was to leave him alone unless he was dying. Turner merely had Wilson check out all his command crew thoroughly.

"They''re fine, sir," Wilson said. "Newkirk and Carter are healed and Kinch and LeBeau are good to go."

"Newkirk's scars?"

"The brands? They're pretty healed. Permanent but healed."

"All right. Good."

"What about you, sir?"

"I'm not injured, Wilson."

The medic eyed him and Turner simply stared back. "All right," Wilson said. "Just don't be like some of the other COs here and ignore injuries, all right?"

"Never crossed my mind."

Wilson snorted but said nothing else. As the sunny days passed into smoky, usually sleepless nights, Turner found himself oddly at home at Stalag 13. Schultz hurried in one day and handed him the mail bag. "You hand it out, Wing Commander, Your men are horrible."

"It is your job," Turner said mildly. "All right, Schultz, not a problem." He took the bag and began sorting. He placed the mail on the designated bunks, tossing his own on his bunk as well. LeBeau came in first.

"We have mail!"

"And Red Cross packages." Turner poured a cup of coffee.

"A wealth of riches," Kinch said as he came in.

LeBeau grabbed his letters and grinned. Six. Two from his mother, one from one of his sisters, two for lady friends and one from a name he couldn't read in a handwriting he didn't recognize. Curiously, he opened that first.

_Dear Corporal Louis LeBeau,_

_ Hello. You don't know me but I'm hoping you can help me. My name is Mavis Newkirk and my brother Peter has mentioned you as a good mate of his. I'm hoping you can help me by filling in some gaps._

_ I haven't received any word from Peter in over eight months. This isn't like him--he always wrote and while he couldn't tell me a lot, at least I knew he was all right. It's nerve racking being at home while your brother fights. Worse to know he's locked up but at least I knew he should be safe. He used to send letters filled with daily life from _**[blacked out]**_. I've sent several letters to him and while I know the post and war mail is slow, it's not that bloody slow. Also, he is a POW. Isn't boredom the big threat? He could write me a few lines at least._

_ Peter is the only family I have. We've always been close. So I guess I'm asking what happened? Is Peter all right? If something has happened, Mr. LeBeau, I need to know. Bad news or good, if you understand what I mean. Not knowing is the worst. Could you please write and tell me what's going on? Whatever happened, I'd like to know all the details. Or even just a basic answer. I even enclosed some blank paper and envelopes in case they are needed._

_ I sent letters to several of Peter's other mates there, friends he said are the greatest blokes he knows. That'd be you and a few Yanks, a Colonel Hogan, a Sergeant Carter, and Sergeant Kinchloe. If any of you could please write me, it'd mean the world to me. I miss Peter terribly as I'm sure you miss your families. Hopefully this will all be over soon. Maybe we could all meet up someday so I could say thank you properly. _

_ Thank you for being Peter's friend. Thank you for helping him through his stay there. And thank you in advance for letting me know the truth._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Mavis Newkirk_

LeBeau carefully folded the letter, replaced it in the envelope. The barracks hummed with excitement as everyone read letters and exchanged gossip from home. "You all right, Louis?" Kinch asked.

"Oui. Where is Newkirk?"

"Payday for the guards," Carter answered absently.

"Poker again?" Turner asked curiously. "Don't the guards ever get tired of losing their money?"

"He never takes it all, sir," Olson spoke up. " And he does lose once in a while."

"Umm," Turner nodded. "LeBeau? Bad news?"

"No, Commander. Just thinking." LeBeau glanced at Kinch who was reading a letter that looked similar to his. Kinch's eyes widened and he glanced at LeBeau. Both looked at Carter. Carter was reading through a letter. Lebeau grabbed one of Carter's unopened letter and handed it to him.

"Hey!"

"This one next, mon ami. It looks like it's from a lady."

"Heck, I don't have any girlfriends, LeBeau." Carter opened the letter carefully. He read slowly, as if trying to memorize and Lebeau resisted an urge to yell at him to hurry. When Carter finished, he looked at his friends with large eyes. LeBeau hurriedly left the barracks, knowing Kinch and Carter would follow. Carter walked after him. "Did you get a letter from Newkirk's sister?" Carter asked.

"Oui. So did Kinch."

"So what do we do?'

"Smack him for being an idiot?' Kinch suggested as he joined them. "I should have expected this. He mentioned he hadn't written."

"His sister sounds nice," Carter said, "And he's all she has."

"So we tell him to write," LeBeau said.

"What about the letter to Colonel Hogan?" Carter asked.

"The Red Cross will hold it or send it back," Kinch said. "Since it's a dead letter."

Newkirk ambled into sight, chatting to an annoyed Schultz. "You are a cheat," Schultz accused.

"Don't be like that, Schultzie. Can I help it if Lady Luck finds me sexy? Here, I'll give you back your money as long as you don't tell the other guards, all right?"

"Ja, that is a good deal!"

Newkirk rejoined his friends. "Hello, mates. All right, what's with the dirty looks?"

"Your sister wrote us," LeBeau said, voice tight.

Shock crossed Newkirk's face. "Why would Mavis write you?"

"Because you don't write her," Carter said. "She's your sister!"

"She's worried," Kinch said.

"About what?"

"She has not heard from you in over eight months," LeBeau said. "She thinks something has happened to you!"

"She thinks you're dead," Kinch said.

"All right, all right, I'll write. Lord, it isn't that big a deal. Mavis is worrying for nothing."

"Eight months!" Carter exclaimed. "I'd scream if any of my sisters hadn't written me in that long."

"Mavis worries over nothing," Newkirk said. "I'm sorry she wrote you, LeBeau."

"She wrote all of us," Carter said. Newkirk sighed in vexation.

"All right. I'll write her now."

"Good," LeBeau said. "Apologize for being an imbecile and worrying her."

"Don't worry about 'ow I treat my sister," Newkirk snapped.

"Newkirk, she loves you," Kinch said.

"I know that. She doesn't need to kick up a fuss, however, just because I'm not Charles Dickens or bloody Shakespeare, writing her sonnets or books. If I was dead, she would have been notified, sooner or later."

Kinch gave Newkirk a light smack. "Just write her," he ordered.

"Is she married?" Carter asked casually.

"No. And don't get any bloody ideas, any of you. She's a kid."

"How old is she?" LeBeau asked as they walked in the barracks.

"25."

"She's not a kid," Carter said. "I bet she's pretty!"

"Who?' Olson asked.

"Newkirk's sister," Carter said.

"I didn't know you had a sister, Newkirk," Parks said. "Have you been holding out on us?"

"She's a kid," Newkirk said, hopping on his bunk. "And if you think any of you would be allowed near her, you're bloody stupid."

Turner chuckled and Newkirk looked at him. "My brother in law said the same thing to me," he explained.

"You're married?" Parks asked.

"10 years now."

"Surprised they picked a married man for this," Olson murmured. "No offense, sir."

"None taken. Gil knows what we're facing, however."

"Gil?" LeBeau asked.

"Short for Gillian. She likes Gil because it's short and easy."

"Nice to have someone waiting at home for you," Olson said.

"Gil isn't at home," Turner laughed. "Last I knew, she was flying for the RAF."

The barracks went quiet. "Girls?" Parks blurted.

"Of course," Turner replied in surprise. "The women test and fly the planes from factories to airfields and back to the factories for repair. Heavens, the Russian women actually fly combat missions. The Yanks use their women the same way we do ours. Gil flies better than most men I've met."

"It doesn't bother you?" Parks asked.

"That she can fly? Heavens, no. She's helping just like we are."

"Like Tiger," Carter said.

"Exactly."

Newkirk began writing while the others chatted.

_Dear Mavis,_

_ I'm fine, all right? I'm in a bleeding POW camp, what could happen to me? I was ill a bit but I'm fine now. Stop worrying. You have your own problems to deal with there and you don't need to add me to that list. Also, please don't write me mates again, all right? You're not Mum or Nan._

_ I don't mean to be short, sis, really but you don't have to fuss so. Everyone seems to want to fuss and it gets to me because fussing solves nothing. Your fussing can't free me from here nor undo the past. I'll try to write more._

Newkirk put his pen down and frowned. "What is it?" Carter asked.

"I think I sound a bit shirty here."

"Let me see," Carter said, reading over Newkirk's shoulder. "Wow, you are being mean. So she worries!"

"Lay off, Carter."

"I mean, not everyone has someone who cares about them. And your sister sounds really nice and she loves you."

"Probably the only one who does," Olson teased.

Newkirk smiled bitterly, staring at the paper. "That, Olson, is the truest thing you ever said."

LeBeau gave Olson a dirty look while Olson looked embarrassed. "Just joshing, Newkirk. When did you become so sensitive?" he said.

"When the Gestapo decided to carve through my eye like a piece of mutton," Newkirk retorted.

"Does it hurt?" Turner asked with concern.

"No, sir. Just a bit twitchy today. Are we going out tonight?'

Turner nodded. "Scouting out those new rockets."

"We have company," Mill said from a window. Turner strode to the door, opened it. Two large cars pulled up to Klink's office.

" I wish the Krauts would call ahead," Turner said. "I hated feeling rushed. We have guests, gentlemen. I wonder what they want."


	31. Chapter 31

The five clustered around the coffee pot. "Klink, this is Karl Gruber, an associate of Dr. Wernher von Braun," Burkhalter's voice echoed. "We stopped here for the night. Gruber loves French food and I have told him of your Corporal LeBeau."

"Thank you, herr General. LeBeau is an excellent chef!"

"Great. I have become famous among the Boche," LeBeau muttered. Carter squeezed his shoulder.

"You can always spike the schnapps," Turner said. The men looked at him oddly. Their new CO's sense of humor was unsettling after the far more literal Major Cole. Inwardly Cole sighed. _They are so leery, as if no one ever joked around with them. From what Nigel has said, I can't believe Hogan was a by the books man. And while Cole was uptight, he was certainly human enough. _He smiled and Carter smiled back. LeBeau rolled his eyes but smiled. _Just one step at a time._

"You allow prisoners to prepare the food?" came an unknown voice. Turner raised an eyebrow.

"Major Heise," Burkhalter introduced. "He is Dr. Gruber's aide."

"Sounds like a fun time," Kinch muttered. "Newkirk? Are you OK?" Turner turned to look at his fellow countryman. Newkirk stared at the pot, devoid of expression or color.

"Newkirk?" Carter asked in a worried tone.

Newkirk looked up, wild eyed, as LeBeau lightly shoved him. "Fine," Newkirk snapped. "Just wool gathering." He rubbed his blind eye, a sign Turner had come to realize meant Newkirk was extremely nervous.

"Corporal LeBeau is always watched," Klink explained. "And I do have the food tested. Besides, the prisoners here love me. I am a kind of father figure to them."

"You admit to being a father figure to enemies of the Reich?!"

"They respect me, herr Heise! I am firm but fair."

"Amazingly enough, the prisoners here seem to respect Klink," Burkhalter said. "Even the senior POWs all seem to like him. I have not the faintest idea how he accomplishes that."

"As I said, General, I am firm but fair."

"Yes, yes, Klink," Burkhalter muttered. "Get the guest quarters ready."

"At once. Schultz!"

Turner leaned against his bunk. "Wernher von Braun," he muttered. "I know that name..."

"_Oui_. It sounds familiar," LeBeau said.

"He's a rocket engineer," Carter said excitedly.

"Wonderful," Newkirk said. "The Krauts' own bombmakers." He glanced at Turner. "I can slip a bomb in their car, no problem, sir. Get rid of them, quick and easy."

"I don't want Burkhalter hurt. Too much attention." Turner frowned. "LeBeau, you're making dinner. Newkirk, you serve. Let's see if Gruber has anything of interest."

"Yes, sir," LeBeau said.

"You want me serving?" Newkirk asked. "'Ow about Carter? I could slip into the guest quarters and look around a bit."

"You serve," Turner said. "Carter and Kinch will be keeping an eye out here. Carter, I want you to rig up a few small bombs, just in case."

"Sure! Just small ones?"

"For now," Turner said. "Kinch, see what we have on Heise or Gruber."

Kinch nodded. "You going to get invited?" Kinch asked.

"I should be invited," Turner said in mock outrage. "After all, someone has to protect LeBeau and Newkirk." LeBeau grinned and Turner chuckled. "Besides, that way they know they food isn't poisoned unless LeBeau wants to poison me too."

"Non, Commander," LeBeau said. His voice became teasing. "Not yet, at least."

Out of the corner of his eye, Turner watched Newkirk absently rub his face again and dearly wanted to know what was inside his head. _What is bothering him? We blow up trains, impersonate Germans, nothing bothers the men. Serving a dinner makes him edgy? In good time, Jack. Slow has to be the way to go._

Dinner was excellent although Turner found it rather gut wrenching to chat pleasantly with the enemy. Klink and Burkhalter he could stomach--he almost felt fondness for Klink but the scientist Gruber and Major Heise made his insides knot. Heise watched everyone and at the end of dinner, excused himself. Turner allowed himself an after dinner schnapps, trying to pry more information from Gruber.

Major Heise headed for the kitchen where he found the grossly overweight Sergeant Schultz chatting with a tiny dark haired man in a chef's hat. The waiter stood beside them. "Take the chef and go, Sergeant," Heise ordered. He studied the scarred Englander intently. Newkirk took a step back.

"_Jawohl_. Newkirk, LeBeau, come."

"Leave the Englander. He may be needed later."

"Newkirk can not cook," the chef protested.

"Did I ask for your opinion?" Heise snapped. ""Leave at once!"

Schultz dragged the small prisoner away, leaving Heise with the lone prisoner. "I was shocked to see you." Heise smiled. "I did not know you survived," he said. "You are more tenacious than I imagined. Can you see out of that eye?"

The Englander said nothing, just watched him. Heise was pleased to hear the man's breathing increase as he neared. "So you do remember me. I am flattered." He reached out, caressed Newkirk's face, not surprised when the man slammed back against the wall, evading his touch. "I didn't remember you at first. Not until I saw your eye. Then it came back to me. You can even walk normally. I must be losing my touch."

Newkirk jerked away again as Heise touched his face. "Stand still," Heise ordered, running a hand through Newkirk's hair. He felt several raised scars there, marks he did remember. He also felt Newkirk trembling, fine quivering that became shudders as his fingers touched the scarred eye. "You are so quiet. You were never quiet before," he mused. "You never quit yelling when I was around. Or perhaps it was screaming?"

"Stop touching me!"

The Englishman shoved and Heise stumbled back, caught off balance. Newkirk twisted and grabbed a knife off the counter and Heise laughed. "Don't be a fool. Spill one drop of German blood and you are a dead man."

"Would be worth it," Newkirk said lowly. "I'd make sure you'd die before me."

"I am losing my touch. I can't believe you actually have some spirit left. Perhaps you have lost your memory."

"I'm not chained down anymore, Fritz."

"What is going on here?!"

Klink stormed into the room, Turner and Burkhalter right behind him. "Knife fell, Kommandant. I just picked it up and ol' Major Heise here thought he'd have a joke on me by jumping out and yelling in German. He just surprised me, that's all," Newkirk hastily said.

Turner actually was impressed by Newkirk's quick thinking. Yet quick thinking couldn't save Newkirk from a 30 day cooler sentenance despite Turner's own sweet talking. Major Heise merely said a few nights in a cell would do Newkirk good and that was that. Yet Turner saw Newkirk pale, noted the desperate look Newkirk tossed his way. "Your CO can not save you, Corporal," Heise blandly said. "No one can."

Newkirk turned milk white. Turner narrowed his eyes. _We'll see about that._


	32. Chapter 32

In the barracks, Turner summoned Mills, Parks and Olson. "Parks, go play Newkirk in the cooler. Wear an eyepatch and send him to me. Olson, watch the cooler. If anyone goes there, we need to know immediately, so we can switch them back. Mills, keep a lookout with Olson for anyone coming here. Kinch, LeBeau, Carter, down below. Olson, yell down if someone comes. Otherwise, don't interrupt us."

"Yes, sir."

In the tunnels, Turner waited impatiently for Newkirk. Newkirk arrived with a set face and haunted eyes. "Who is he?" Turner asked.

"Gestapo," Newkirk said softly.

"What?" LeBeau blurted.

"Are you telling me you knew a Gestapo agent was in the camp and didn't say anything?" Turner said in a cold tone that made all the men wince. Newkirk flinched violently but rallied.

"Sir, he's not just a Gestapo agent. He was Hochstetter's thug." An odd pleading tone made Turner pay closer attention to his Corporal.

"I don't remember him," Kinch said.

"I don't either," Carter agreed.

"Because I met him at Gestapo HQ." Newkirk shifted from side to side. Turner tilted his head and Newkirk looked at the floor.

Tuner stared at him then rubbed his head. "Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, voice shaking with rage. "Do you think I would have made you face him, much less serve him, had I known? Damn it, Newkirk!"_ How much of a bastard do you think I am?_

"He's the one who tortured you?" LeBeau demanded. Newkirk looked away.

"Yes, he's the one. Look, it's not about me."

"Then what is it?" Turner snapped. "Why would he care about you?" Newkirk studied him. "Look, I want to give you all a lot of time to get used to me but frankly we don't have that luxury. Make a decision quickly, all of you. Either you trust me or not. I can't work with half information and secrets or bloody fence sitters. Carter?"

"Sir?"

"In or not?"

"I'm in, sir." Carter sounded shocked he'd even ask.

"I'm here," Kinch said. "All the way, sir."

"Viva La France!" LeBeau said.

All the men looked at Newkirk. Turner turned his full attention to him. _No more time left. _"Well?" he asked. "What is it, Peter? As Benjamin Franklin said 'We must, indeed, all hang together, or most assuredly we shall all hang separately'."

LeBeau inhaled and Newkirk turned ashen. Turner glanced at a confused Carter and stoic Kinch. "Sorry," Newkirk said in a rasp. "You just--startled me." He inhaled. "All right, then. I'm in, sir, always have been." He glanced at his friends then looked at Turner, straightening his shoulders. "Heise branded me with a triangle because he found out I was homosexual."

Turner had expected anything from "I gave up Underground members" to "I'm related to Hitler." This was NOT expected. "_You_ ?" he said dumbly. "I bloody have to pry you off Hilda three times a week."

"I can act, sir."

Turner shook his head. "You. Well, that's not quite what I expected." He mused a moment, pacing slowly. He sighed. "A sticky mess this is. Although, it does explain a lot."" Turner chuckled then at the startled look of Newkirk's face. "I did read all your files, men. I do wish you hadn't carried on with Colonel Hogan, Newkirk."

Again silence. "What?" Newkirk stuttered. "I never said his name."

"I read his file, too. Your relationship explains some oddities in his file." Turner rubbed his neck. "Relax, all of you. I'm not tossing Newkirk out, all right? We're not typical military and whom any of you shag isn't my business unless it directly affects operations. Such as sleeping with Marya." He eyed LeBeau who smiled sheepishly. "Or carrying on with a Kraut."

"So Newkirk's all right?" Carter asked nervously. "You won't court martial him?"

"No, I won't. All of you knew?" Turner asked.

"Yes," Kinch said. "We found out after the Colonel died."

"Well then it stays with us."

"And Heise," LeBeau said. "Why did you tell him _that_?"

"Because I had to tell him something," Newkirk snapped. "He had already threatened to take me other eye!"

"Sorry," LeBeau muttered.

"So he branded you," Turner said.

"So when they go through the camps, they could identify me as one of the undesirables. Along with the Jews, Gypsies and what have you."

"The Jews aren't branded," Carter said.

"Other ways to identify them, mate," Newkirk said. He swallowed hard. "Sir, Heise will most likely tell everyone who I am. And that's a death sentence, no matter what."

"I know. Let me think on it."

"Right." Newkirk looked unconvinced. "Sir, I never said the Colonel's name."

"I know."

"Then how?" Carter asked. "If we couldn't guess, how could you?"

"Things. Like your sister's letter to Colonel Hogan," Turner said. "It was addressed to Colonel Hogan or the senior POW. Yes, I read it."

"Great," Newkirk muttered, face reddening.

"She sounds very worried," Turner said with a wistful smile. "She mentioned she hadn't heard from you in over eight months. I asked around and the most significant event then was Colonel Hogan's death. Two, Major Cole mentioned you had peculiarities yet Hogan had nothing but great words for all of you. Three, your medical file Klink showed me mentioned calling out for your twin brother Rob. You have no twin, Newkirk."

"Is there any bloody file of mine you didn't read?" Newkirk snapped. "My medical file, Wing Commander? Isn't that a little much?"

"I needed to know if you were healed," Turner calmly said. "Besides, Klink insisted on showing me how much German medicine had done for you. And this is why your secret is a risk. The Krauts can blackmail you."

"There couldn't be any blackmail if everyone minded their own bloody business!"

"I agree," Turner said quietly. "Frankly, your--or anyone's relationship--is not my concern. Saving all our countries is. I'm on your side, Newkirk. I'm on all of your sides."

"As long as we're useful," Newkirk muttered.

"No. After the war, I'll still keep trying to help all of you. All your secrets will be safe in that regard. What will happen otherwise, I don't know. France and all of Europe has to rebuild and frankly, North and South America are going to have it much easier than us."

"We'll help," Carter said.

"Pierre," LeBeau murmured. "_Prendre une chance. Confiance en lui. Il n'est pas l'ennemi. _ (Take a chance. Trust him. He is not the enemy.)"

Newkirk looked at Turner and nodded. "All right then. So what do we do about Heise?"

"I'm working on it. Buck up, men, it's not that bad. After all, I know far worse secrets than Newkirk's!"

Turner had to grin at the immediate interest all the men showed. "Like what?" Carter asked. _Cat curious that one. No wonder Nigel wants to recruit him!_

"Later. One step at a time. Newkirk, back to the cooler. Carter, LeBeau, topside. Kinch, see what London has on Gruber. "

"Yes, sir."

"How did you know about Hogan, Commander?' Carter asked. "You didn't explain."

"Colonel Hogan's will is public record in his file," Turner said carefully. "While all of you were mentioned as his greatest friends in the will, he left some things to..."

"To Newkirk," LeBeau finished excitedly.

"To Mavis Newkirk." Turner glanced at Newkirk. "I could see leaving things to devoted friends but why the friend's sister? That just seemed odd."

Newkirk's eyes shone. "I best be off."

"Newkirk?" Turner said casually.

"Sir?"

"Don't ever let a Gestapo agent come in here again without telling me immediately. Is that clear?"

"Yes, sir. And thank you."

Turner nodded, watching him leave. He turned to LeBeau. "Your turn. Why the flip? He should have at least tried to lie to me and you both turned white."

LeBeau nodded. "When mon Colonel started the unit, we were all suspicious. Newkirk was worst. Carter was not yet at the Stalag. Colonel Hogan was patient for a bit but he could not wait forever. Kinch was fixing the radio and when Newkirk complained at an idea he had, Colonel Hogan demanded he make a choice. Like you, Wing Commander.'

"Ah," Turner said.

"I remember that," Kinch said in surprise. "Colonel Hogan was pretty intense that day."

LeBeau smiled. "Oui. I was startled, Wing Commander, because you used the exact quote Colonel Hogan did."


	33. Chapter 33

(AN: Thank you for all the reviews and a special thank you to my beta!! I hope you enjoy this chapter!)

Newkirk lay in the cooler, counting the minutes in heartbeats. _One, two, three. Damn, Rob, I wish you were here. Or me there. Anything to be together. But I gave you my word. I'll get that letter to your family somehow. I wish I could believe. Carter tries to show me, tries to convince me but I know there's nothing out there. Even with Turner, who isn't a bad chap, I know the minute I stop being useful, I am dead meat. Funny how deep it cuts still. The wound is bandaged but the bleeding still goes on. Thirty, thirty one. How will the Wing Commander stop Heise? And then what? When the war ends, how do I start my own mission? I know what I'm going to do, Rob, just not exactly sure how to start. Bloody hell, I'm thinking to a dead man. Well, it doesn't hurt anyone and no one else wants to hear me ramble. _

He didn't know when he dropped off, only when he woke in cold sweats. _Nightmares again. Someday all this is going to come crashing in on me and I'm going to go ruddy bonkers. _He stood up, began pacing to try to ignore the clamminess of his shirt. _What is Turner planning?_

Turner stood by Kinch in the radio room. "London wants Gruber," Kinch said.

"Wonderful. Any bright ideas how to grab him?" Turner asked. "Never mind, Kinch, I'm sorry. I need Burkhalter out of the mix."

"We can make some phone calls," Carter suggested.

"Maybe." Turner strolled around.

"Can I ask you a question, sir?" Kinch asked.

"Of course."

"Why so easy on Newkirk? I'm not complaining, but most officers would hit the roof."

"Well, we need every body we can get. Besides, we draft everyone we can whether they say they're homosexual or not. Be a little unfair of me to kick out a man for homosexuality when we draft known homosexuals. If they can't use it to get out of service, they shouldn't be kicked out for it. And honestly, I hardly care. The affair with an officer bothers me far worse; but since Colonel Hogan has passed on, it'd hardly be cricket to attack either him or Newkirk. And I understand how someone can fall for the so-called wrong person. I have a good friend who fell in love with the wrong woman. He has never been quite the same after she was killed. He has a good life, is happy, but never has that spark anymore." Turner looked thoughtful. "Your idea has merit, Carter. Kinch, get the phones up. LeBeau, sneak in the motor pool. Disable Klink's staff car so that it'll stop after a mile or so."

"Klink's car?" Carter asked.

"Yes. The General will take his after General Kinchmeyer from Wolfsschanze (the Wolf's Lair) calls. Kinch, tell him he is needed in Berlin immediately, that Gruber and Heise will have to travel on without him."

"Gotcha."

"Let's have some fun, men."

The next morning, Schultz dragged an unwilling Newkirk to roll call. "I'm in the cooler, Schultz! I don't need roll call!" Newkirk shouted.

"Silence! Herr Heise has ordered you be present!"

Turner nodded and Newkirk fell silent. As Klink stepped out of the office, an irritated look on his face, Heise followed. "Report!" Klink yelled.

"All present and accounted for!"

"Naturally! Now, Major Heise?"

"Thank you, Kommandant." Heise looked at all the prisoners. "In just a few weeks, I will be back and selecting certain prisoners to be relocated to another POW camp. This camp is for only select prisoners, ones who fit certain deviant standards. You know who you are. You will be well cared for. However, your taint will be contained."

"Like what?" a man shouted.

"Like perversion. Degeneracy. I know for a fact that there are homosexuals here. Jews. Gypsies. One known deviant is right here. It is..."

Turner stepped forward. "It's me," he said loudly.

The prisoners rustled and Turner felt their startled gazes. Newkirk's mouth had opened while Heise stared at him. "Are you admitting to being a pervert?"

"If that's what you call it. These are all my men, Major, and if anyone is a degenerate, it's me."

A loud laugh broke from behind him. _Thank you, Mills!!_ Turner smiled grimly as the prisoners began laughing. "Right, we're all poofs!" a voice from Barracks Six called.

"I'm half Gypsy!"

"If the Wing Commander is going, I am!" Kinch called out.

"Me, too!" Newkirk yelled.

"Heck, yeah! We can escape!"

"Viva La France! Let's all go!"

The catcalls and shouts rose and Klink glared at Major Heise. "If any of these men escape on your watch, it's your head!" he yelled.

"Enough! Silence your men, Commander! I will begin removing them in two weeks!"

"We are prisoners of the Luftwaffe, Major, not whatever you are. And the Geneva Convention has rules!"

"Enough!" Klink shouted. "Turner, silence these men! All prisoners to the barracks!"

Turner caught Kinch's eye and nodded. Kinch let loose an ear splitting whistle and the men fell silent. Turner waved and each barracks chief headed for the barracks. Only Turner's command crew stood by him, Newkirk beside Carter. Heise glared at him.

"I'll be back for you," he said.

"Better hurry. I hear the Russians aren't far away."

Heise stomped off and Klink glared at Turner. "Insolence! Get back to your barracks, Wing Commander and take Newkirk with you! He is released from the cooler."

"As you say, Kommandant."

In the barracks, all the men cheered as Turner came in. "That was terrific!" Parks crowed. "Did you see their faces?!"

"You are brilliant," Mills said.

"Congratulate yourselves. You did great." Turner chuckled to himself. He glanced at Newkirk with amused eyes.

Newkirk poured a cup of coffee and smiled.

"Now," Turner said. "LeBeau, Carter, Newkirk, let's go. We need to get out on the road and get these two men into the tunnels. Did you make the bomb, Carter?"

"You bet, sir!"

Newkirk looked baffled. "We're sending Heise and Gruber to London," Turner briefly explained. "Kinch, watch the barracks and cover as best you can. This shouldn't be long."

Each man donned a SS uniform and darted out the tunnel. It was easy to find the broken down car. "Good work, LeBeau," Turner said softly. It was a bit harder to get Gruber and Heise down the tunnel without drawing attention but a few pairs of gloves made hasty gags. Turner gestured to Carter who blew up the car enthusiastically.

In the tunnel, everyone quickly pulled off the uniform jackets while Kinch cuffed their guests. "Nice work," Turner said. "Kinch, tonight make arrangements to get these two out of here."

"Yes, sir. We better get topside."

"Agreed. LeBeau, watch our guests. I'll send Baker to relieve you."

"Oui."

Turner felt Newkirk's gaze from time to time that afternoon but said nothing until Newkirk ambled over to him late that afternoon. "Why?" Newkirk asked as they strolled the compound. A faint odor of flowers filled the air from the blooming flower beds.

"London wants Gruber and Heise," Turner said, deliberately misunderstanding.

"I meant why did you say you were the pervert?"

"We need you," Turner honestly said. "Besides, you're one of my men and my responsibility."

"Some of these men are going to believe it," Newkirk said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "You took a chance."

"I know the risks." Turner turned by the kennels, chirped to Heidi and Ludwig.

"Really? If they tell the wrong people, you are grounded, Wing Commander."

Turner shrugged and Newkirk frowned. "I'm willing to take that chance."

"Are all you officers daft?"

"Just the good ones," Turner retorted.

Newkirk looked at him and laughed; a genuine laugh without any sharp edges. Turner gazed at him, a grin curving his lips. "All right, mate. I've dealt with balmy officers before and you can't be any crazier than Colonel Hogan."

"Is that a challenge?"

"Hell, no. I think you'll do just fine as Wing Commander Turner." Newkirk smiled. "He would 'ave liked you."

"Thanks." Turner said, smiling wider at the compliment. "Carter says you may get into hunting after the war."

"Yeah. A bit of hunting, a bit of rubbish removal."

Turner shook his head. "All right. Come on, let's see what LeBeau is whipping up for supper."

"Your wife really in the RAF?"

"Yes, why?"

"Just wondering how crazy she is to be with you."

"How crazy was Colonel Hogan?"

"Touche."

Knowing the others wouldn't want to be with Gruber or Heise, Turner took his turn watching over them late that evening. The distant sound of bombing made him hum and he watched his prisoners eat before cuffing them again. "I prefer your corporal," Heise said. "Why not have him serve us again?"

Turner didn't lose his temper often. Now, however, all he saw was black and red. He'd known Newkirk was tortured – everyone did. He'd also seen the haunted look in Newkirk's eyes in the mornings, when Newkirk slammed back coffee and looked like he'd travelled through Dante's rings of Hell. To think what that torture involved made Turner's blood run cold.

Kinch ran into the room, jerking to a stop when he spotted his CO punching Heise repeatedly. The German, cuffed and yowling in pain, cringed in a corner while Turner pummeled him mercilessly. "Commander! Commander, stop!" Kinch grabbed Turner and yanked him back. Turner wheeled and Kinch swallowed. Those grey eyes were nowhere near sane. "Wing Commander, it's me, Kinch."

Turner nodded and his face became normal. "Thank you, Sergeant," he said softly. He looked at Heise and shook his head. "I don't do things like this. I'm sorry, Kinch."

"It's all right, sir. Heck, you just did what we all wanted to do. Why don't you get some coffee? I'll clean Heise up."

"Thank you. I'll bring you a cup, Kinch."

"Thank you."

Turner left and Kinch yanked Heise to his feet. "Whatever you said," he said to Heise. "Thank you. I'm glad one of us got to pound you a little." He shoved Heise into his chair. "I'll get a washcloth and water. Just stop sniveling."

Carter and LeBeau found Newkirk in the tunnels, staring at a piece of paper. "Pierre?"

Newkirk looked up and smiled. "Hey." He put the paper in the box. "I'm all right, mates."

"You still miss him," LeBeau said.

"Like my heart."

"There are others like you," Carter slowly said. "You could find somebody."

Newkirk shook his head. "Rob was special. He was, still is, the best part of me. But that hole – it's bandaged, OK? I'm functional. I got you fellows, got a CO who seems all right. I'm good."

"Rob?" LeBeau asked, eyebrow raising. Newkirk just smiled smugly.

"Colonel Hogan will wait for you," Carter said.

"I wish I could believe in afterlives, Carter. I can't."

"What would prove it to you?"

"I don't know," Newkirk said. "A purple horse coming into camp? Dance of the unicorns? Look, if I said, hey, if I wake up with white roses climbing the wall near my bunk, then I'll believe Rob is waiting for me, you two would go find some white roses and try to make me believe. And it wouldn't be Rob, it'd be you."

"You have no romance in your soul," LeBeau groused.

"True."

Carter looked at the box. "That is really nice."

"Thank you."

"Have to be kind of romantic to make that."

Newkirk rolled his eyes. "Let's get upstairs, mates." He placed the box in its hiding spot and the trio went topside.

It took a few days but Gruber and Heise were sent on their way. Turner visibly relaxed, although Newkirk did notice a few odd glances now and then. While in the tunnels about a week later on a rainy evening, the men enjoyed a rare 'day' off. As Turner roamed the tunnels, Kinch gleefully related the news that he had pulled a furious Turner off Heise. "Why would the Commander attack Heise?" Carter asked.

"I think it was just a little payback." Kinch grinned at Newkirk. "He wasn't doing anything I didn't want to do."

"Over and done with, mate. But thanks, anyway."

Turner ambled over, drinking a large mug of hot chocolate. "Thought you men might be grabbing some shuteye," he said.

"And leave you all alone?" Kinch asked.

"I'm a big boy, Kinch, I could watch the radio," Turner laughed.

"Naw, sir. You have a tendency to mess up the buttons."

"Kinch thinks only he and Baker can run that radio," Newkirk snorted.

"You mess with the volume," Kinch retorted. "LeBeau doesn't let you cook, either."

"Sacred bleu! I would not let Newkirk near my food. He eats sausage and potatoes in a mash!"

"I thought you were ordered to blow up that damn bridge, Jack," came a sharp voice. The men turned.

"Remind me, Kinch, to take Mills off look-out duty," Turner sighed. "Heavens, Nigel, who pissed in your tea? And you look terrible!"

The Group Captain looked like a soaked rat, clothes plastered to him. He also looked like he'd been dragged through nightmares, eyes bloodshot and filled with shadows. Turner walked over to Wellston, embraced him quickly and roughly. "Would you like some coffee or tea?" Kinch asked.

"Bless you, Kinch. Tea would be great." Wellston handed Turner a package. "Film and files. Get it to London."

"Nigel?"

"Don't ask," Nigel said. "Just – don't." He looked at the worried men. "It's all right. I've had a bit of a rough week. Eyes only on those files, Jack. The men don't need to see them."

"Why not?" Carter asked.

"We are fighting, we should know," LeBeau argued.

"They're right," Turner said. Kinch handed Wellston a steaming cup of tea.

"Thank you." Wellston sipped the tea. "All right, then look. But you should have a strong stomach."

Turner opened the envelope and inhaled. Slowly he began shifting photos faster and faster. "Bloody hell," he murmured. His men clustered around him.

"Mon Dieu," LeBeau whispered.

Bodies stacked like cordwood. Mass graves. Rotting corpses. All the men looked at the photos, looked at Wellston. "Auschwitz," he said quietly. "Death camp and labor camp. Actually a series of camps."

"God," Carter breathed. "Sir, what can we do?"

"Get it to London," Wellston said. He set down his half-finished tea. "I have to go. Someone tried to assassinate Hitler again and I need to go rattle some cages."

"Are you all right sir?" Lebeau asked.

"No. But I have a job to do. That's the biggest camp. There are more." Wellston sighed. "Biggest damn secret of the war and I don't even know if it is a secret. But those might help someone."

"I'm sorry," Turner said. "I shouldn't have asked you to get this information."

"It's my job. I have to go." Wellston drifted down the tunnel. Turner walked after him, taking him aside and talking to him in low tones. The men exchanged looks.

"So that's where they send people like me," Newkirk finally, softly said.

"No," Kinch said tightly. "Never."

"Kinch is right. We would not allow it." LeBeau patted Newkirk's arm.

"We won't," Carter said, voice shaking with rage. The youngest of the assembled men looked around with furious eyes. "You aren't going there. No one is."

"Easy, tiger," Turner said, coming over. "You're right, but let's just get this to London, OK? Kinch, set up a rendezvous to pass this stuff off. This place isn't near us. We will warn the Underground and protect the people here."

"And if they tried to take the men here? Like Heise mentioned?" Carter asked.

Turner shook his head. "We'll fold the operation first. No one goes into those camps." He looked at Newkirk. "No one. Come on, let's go win the war."

"What if the Boche try to wipe out the camps, say it never happened?" Kinch asked.

"Millions of people missing? Someone has to answer for that, Kinch. Nothing stays hidden forever."

"Just like nothing ever ends," Carter said.

"Right." Turner grinned. "Have a friend assigned to India. Told me about reincarnation, how the soul never dies, just its physical vessel. A bit unorthodox, but intriguing."

"So where does it go?" Newkirk said. "The soul, I mean?" Skepticism rang in every word.

"New body. We're born, we live, we die, and then start the cycle all over again as someone else."

"That's kind of creepy," Kinch muttered.

"I think it's neat," Carter said excitedly. "So someone who dies in the war could come back?"

"They still have to be born and grow again," Turner said. "But yes, according to my friend, he could run into his dead sister again."

"How would he know?" LeBeau asked.

"I don't know. Still, it's something to think about," Turner said. He put the photos away. "Let's have some tea, hmm?"


	34. Chapter 34

Late that night, Newkirk stared at the night sky and the full moon. The heavy summer scent of flowers filled the air and briefly, he remembered an outing with Hogan._ "Someday, Peter, we'll go stargazing and walk in the moonlight like normal couples."_

_ "Never been called normal, Rob. You, either, I bet. 'Sides, normal is overrated."_

_ Hogan had laughed softly. "True. But we wouldn't be hunched under a skinny bush waiting to pick up supplies, either."_

_ "Just enjoy the bomber's moon," Newkirk had said. "And you plan our moonlit outing while I look for the plane."_

_ "Deal."_

"Newkirk?"

Newkirk turned and grinned at LeBeau. "Hey," he said.

"You should get back to bed."

"Just enjoying the night."

LeBeau nodded. "I am sorry," he said quickly.

"For what?"

For saying you have no romance."

"I don't." Newkirk glanced back up at the moon. He hated looking at it through wire but it was still lovely. "I'm not mad."

"What if Turner's friend was right? About souls coming back?"

"You're joking right? Come on, LeBeau, I can see Carter liking that but you're semi-sane."

"Maybe..."

"Look, I'm 29 right now. If Rob did return, I'd be bloody 49, 50 when he was 20. I am not interested in men 30 years younger than me. 'Sides, no, Louis, I don't buy it. Dead is dead. Gone is gone. I told Hogan that a few times when we talked about an afterlife. He acted like you. What would convince me, he asked. I finally blathered something about purple roses and unicorns."

LeBeau sighed. "You don't plan on going home after the war," he said lowly.

"Course I will, I have to see Mavis and also get me back pay. But I won't stay there."

"You want to hunt."

"LeBeau, 'ow many WWI Krauts actually paid for their crimes? I just thought I'd deliver Rob's letter then go look about."

"I guess. Come. Schultz or someone will see us and cause trouble."

"All right."

"What do you miss most about him?"

"I don't know. His smile. His smell. Everything, I guess."

"Did you ever wonder how he would have acted?"

"Huh?"

"If you had been killed and not him."

Newkirk shrugged. "I wondered. Hoped, even, that somehow we could switch places. But it isn't like that. I'm alive. He's not."

Inside Turner's quarters, Kinch and Carter chatted with Turner. "They deserve to know," Carter said. "Come on, all the guys should know what the Krauts are doing."

"I don't know," Turner said. "It's ugly enough here. Should Goldberg know what is happening to other Jews? That they are being exterminated? And men like Newkirk? Should they fear being rounded up?"

"You think there are more homosexuals in camp?' Kinch asked. Turner gazed at him.

"Don't you?"

Kinch shrugged. "I guess."

"I understand your point, Carter, but I have to think of the operation. Telling the men about this will both demoralize and anger them. And if they mention it in front of a guard by mistake? From what Wellston said, this is a huge secret. I'd hate to have to think of explanations on how we, lowly POWs, found out. No, better just us know."

"Is the Group Captain all right?" Carter asked. "He was awfully down."

"Wouldn't you be?" Kinch asked.

"I hope so." Turner looked at the table. "Wellston has a rather delicate juggling act."

"Secrets and more secrets," Carter said.

"We are spies," Turner reminded. Carter grinned. "Are Newkirk and LeBeau back?"

Kinch opened the door. "Just coming in now," he reported. LeBeau came in, Newkirk behind him. "Where were you?"

"Strolling in the moonlight," Newkirk said, lighting a cigarette. He looked up at the brief silence. "Oh, bloody hell, you're kidding me! You all know Louis isn't like that!"

"What are you talking about?" Carter asked. "You usually don't stroll anywhere."

"Or like moonlight," Kinch added. "Ease up, Peter. That skin of yours needs to be a little thicker."

"I did not take offense," LeBeau reassured. Turner just sipped his tea.

"Sorry," Newkirk muttered.

"We have a bridge to blow," Turner said. He laid out a map. "Let's discuss that."

The next morning, the men were raking the flower beds when Burkhalter's car came in. Turner watched curiously. Burkhalter stomped over to him, ignoring Klink. "In the office, Wing Commander," he ordered.

"My pleasure, General."

In Klink's office, Turner watched Burkhalter curiously. "Wing Commander, I have heard when Major Heise was here, you declared yourself a deviant. Is it true?"

"I said it, yes."

"Are you a deviant?"

Turner smiled. "Why, General, are you asking me out?"

(In the barracks, Newkirk covered his eyes. "That's why he likes you, Carter. He bloody well likes to play with explosives, too.")

Burkhalter puffed up like a huge frog. "I am not a pervert, Commander! Are you a deviant or not?"

"Frankly, my wife could answer that better than I."

"She is not here, is she?"

"Why do you care about my sex life?" Turner gave the General a smile.

"Homosexuality is not allowed in the Reich!"

"I am not a member of the Reich. Nor are my men. Major Heise and men like him seem to keep forgetting that. We fall under the Geneva Convention."

"When we control Europe, that will change."

"Really? From what I hear, Germany is getting smaller, not larger. How is your Russian, Herr General?"

(Kinch winced and LeBeau grinned. "He is crazy," Carter whispered.)

"Insolence is unbecoming, Wing Commander," Burkhalter growled. "Are there homosexuals in your ranks?"

"If there are, it is my business. Unless we're buggering German soldiers, you needn't worry."

"You would not dare!" Klink gasped.

"I have no intention of buggering anyone," Turner said. "These are my men and none of them are here for your Gestapo to cull. Not the homosexuals, not the Jews, not anyone. "

"Gestapo? What Gestapo?" Klink demanded.

"Heise was Gestapo." Turner looked at Burkhalter. "Surely you knew."

"Of course," Burkhalter said. "How did you know?"

"He tortured one of my men. Of course he recognized him."

"Newkirk? But he was our waiter," Klink said.

"He respects you, Kommandant. After all, you are much like a father figure. Firm yet fair."

"True," Klink agreed.

"Shut up, Klink," Burkhalter snapped. "Heise is dead. Along with Gruber."

"We heard." Turner patted Klink's shoulder. "I'm sure the Gestapo did it, trying to kill the Kommandant. It was his car and they do envy his efficiency and record."

"True again," Klink said.

"I think I may be ill," Burkhalter muttered. "You best watch your step, Wing Commander. You are too much like Colonel Hogan. He died for his recklessness."

"I thought he died trying to escape," Turner mused. "Did you have a hand in that, General?"

"Don't be an idiot," Burkhalter snapped. "I would not have shot Colonel Hogan. Klink, yes, Hogan, no. I liked Hogan. You, I just may shoot because you cannot give a straight answer. Now go away."

"As you wish," Turner said, smirking slightly. He spun on his heel and left, winking at Hilda.

That night, Turner and all the command crew set out to scout out the bridge. The air hung heavy with the reek of approaching storms, clouds and winds blowing. Turner let LeBeau take point, continually watching the sky. Heat lay over the land like a blanket. The bridge was in sight when the storm broke, yowling like demons. Raindrops pelted the ground fiercely and Turner grabbed LeBeau. "Go back!" he yelled over the roar of thunder. "Now!"

"But," Carter started.

"NOW!"

They all ran, LeBeau and Kinch in the lead, Turner saw Newkirk had dropped slightly behind to cover the rear and he shook his head. Thunder shook the ground and the men ran, the landscape eerie white green in the lightning flashes. LeBeau veered to the side, gesturing to a small building at the base of a wall.

It was a stone garden shed, complete with a small window. Tools hung on the walls, all disturbingly sharp. "Better hope the 'omeowner doesn't come," Newkirk said, wincing as the window rattled in the thunder.

"Would you go out in a storm?" Kinch asked.

"In one now, ain't I?"

Kinch nodded with a grin. "Touche`."

They waited patiently, making idle chatter. When the rain slowed, Turner opened the door and nodded. He stepped out, cautiously turning on a flashlight. "What smells?" Carter whispered. "Perfume?"

"Flowers," Turner replied. "Look."

Flowers of all types surrounded them. "Lots of roses," Kinch said. "Pretty."

LeBeau gasped and suddenly cut several branches of roses from a bush. "What are you doing?" Turner asked.

"They are special roses."

"Get your flower fix later. Let's go."

They slogged back to camp, each soaked through long before they entered the tunnels. LeBeau seemed unaffected, singing under his breath. In the tunnel, he darted off while Baker brought towels and made coffee. "Thanks, Baker. You can head to bed," Turner said.

"Sure, sir."

LeBeau returned with a vase. "There," he said. He plopped the roses in the vase with water and looked at Newkirk.

"What?" Turner asked. The roses gleamed with water. He glanced at Newkirk and stiffened at his Corporal's wide eyes. "What is it?"

"They're purple," Newkirk whispered.


	35. Chapter 35

Turner, Carter and Kinch all looked again. Indeed, the roses glowed a faint lavender. Newkirk grabbed a towel and briskly rubbed his hair. "I'll check the radio," he said. He quickly vanished.

"I thought he would be happy," LeBeau muttered.

"About what?" Kinch inquired. Carter touched the roses.

Lebeau eyed Turner. "He mentioned to me that once Colonel Hogan had asked what it would take for him to believe in an afterlife. He said purple roses and unicorns."

"Covering his bases," Turner said. "An atheist to the core." He touched the flowers gently. "They are lovely. I heard there were unusual rose colors. I've seen some, but not this shade."

"Atheist is strong," Carter said.

"It's what he is." Kinch stripped off his soaked clothes. "That's really sweet, though, LeBeau."

"But this is proof of an afterlife!" LeBeau said.

Newkirk returned with mugs of hot coffee and his face composed. "I don't believe in an afterlife," he said to LeBeau. "But I appreciate the flowers." He smiled. "They're pretty. If you're a bird, that is." His smile took away any sting.

"Kinch, radio London. Tell them we'll try again tomorrow," Turner said. "Get some sleep, men."

"Sure thing, sir." Kinch squeezed Newkirk's shoulder as he passed. Turner followed him. LeBeau glared at Newkirk.

"You said..."

"I know. And they give me the chills, I agree. Look, I know I won't see Rob again. But I'll give you this much." He inhaled. "It makes me think. That good enough for you two?"

"Oui," LeBeau said smugly.

"Sure," Carter agreed.

"Just don't either of you two die," Newkirk ordered. "I 'ardly want to have bloody purple roses everywhere." He raised his voice. "And that goes for you, too, Kinch, and that daft wing Commander!"

"I prefer red," Kinch called back.

"And I like white," Turner said, coming back with a chocolate bar.

"I'm hungry," Carter said.

"You're always hungry," LeBeau said.

"Don't we have stew left over?" Kinch asked.

"Fine, I will heat it up," LeBeau muttered. LeBeau brought in the warm stew and a bottle of wine. Newkirk casually touched the flowers again.

"What about you?" Turner asked, glancing at Newkirk.

"Huh?"

"What color do you want?"

"I'm more of a thorn, sir."

Kinch laughed and Turner smiled. "Pink," Carter announced. "There are pink roses. And yellow ones and orange. So, purple for the Colonel, pink for Newkirk, red for Kinch, white for the Commander, yellow for me, and orange for LeBeau."

"Oh, bloody god," Newkirk groaned. "They're flowers, Carter."

Turner touched the roses. "There are far worse monuments than roses," he said softly.

LeBeau handed out glasses of wine. "Drink," he said.

"To what?" Turner asked.

"Think of something," Kinch said.

Turner grinned wickedly. "To freedom and friends," he said. He smiled wider. "And roses of all colors."

After a few sweet drinks and before they headed topside, Newkirk slipped away from the others. He opened his box, touched the letter, looked at the photos. "I wish I could believe, Rob. Every part of me wants to but I can't. I was never made that way," he whispered. "But I will be OK. And if you do hear me, well, keep waiting. I'll be there soon enough." He touched a photo. "I miss you so much."

A soft cough made him wheel. "Here," Turner said, holding out one rose.

"I don't understand."

"Keep it, Peter. After all, you never know what – or who – may be around the corner." Newkirk took the flower and smiled in a confused way.

"All right."

"You really don't believe, do you?"

"In an afterlife? No." Newkirk smiled. "But it doesn't mean I can't hope now and then." Turner nodded. "Thanks," Newkirk added. "You've taken this well." He placed the rose in a heavy book and pressed it, placing the book with his other possessions.

"I love my wife very much," Turner said. "Who am I to say anything when you seemed to love just as much as I do?"

"Well, just, thanks."

"Come on, we should get some sleep."

Newkirk followed him, looking at the roses one last time. They almost shimmered in the light. He smiled and followed Turner. Behind him, in the stillness of the tunnel, the roses trembled as if an unseen hand caressed them.

_Dear Mavis,_

_First of all, sorry it's been so long since I've written. I'm horrible and mean and all that but I'm alive and doing OK. There have been a lot of changes here and while this place is ruddy boring, it still took me awhile to get used to everything changing. First of all, Colonel Hogan is dead. I lost one of my very few friends and it has tore me apart. He was a great man and a better friend. I feel as if I've lost part of me. I'll warn you I'm not the same – who is? But I'm alive and doing all right._

_Our new CO is OK. Not Hogan but still pretty good. Daft as Hogan was, that's for sure. He has us planting roses that the Krauts bought. Silly but hey, roses are better than a lot of things. I'm hoping I'll be home sometime to see English roses again. I feel like I've been here forever. I also want you to meet my friends. Greatest blokes ever and that's the truth._

_By the way, why in the world did you send photos of yourself to the guys? I don't care that LeBeau asked, he's French! Think, Mavis! Now all LeBeau and Carter can do is write stupid poems and Kinch says you're gorgeous and I'm saying not a chance. These folks are my friends but they're also crazy. Not a chance, little sister._

_Anyway, thanks for worrying. I'm all right. And when I'm home, I'll explain a lot more._

_Love,_

_Peter_

_PS One more time. Not a chance._


	36. Chapter 36

_Dear Mom, Dad, Beth, and Jim,_

_If you're reading this letter, I didn't make it. I'm sorry. I had hoped so much that I would be able to celebrate the war's end with all of you. If it is any comfort, I don't regret dying. I died fighting for what I believed in, that Hitler is the worst thing that happened to Germany and the world and stopping him is not merely a necessity but essential. Too many have died in some of the worst ways possible to think this war was anything but vital._

_I don't go through a day without thinking of all of you and hoping you are safe. Please know I love all of you with every fiber of my being and that I consider myself lucky, yes, lucky to have done what I did. I lead the best men anyone could think of asking for, men who taught me news meanings for dedication, loyalty, and heart. Perhaps we were in a POW camp, but the men here outshone anything you would find at West Point or the Naval Academy. Not in military spit and shine but in sheer tenacity and devotion. I don't regret dying, as I told you, but I regret leaving them behind. They deserve the best that can be found. We worked so very well together, they became my family away from you. We share our lives, not just a barracks._

_I hope, in the days and years to come, you will learn and understand just what we faced over there and what we tried to do, how all of us battled darkness as best we could. Please give my men all the affection and understanding you've always shown me. Know they'll never be able to explain all that we went through for in so many ways, you simply had to be there. Know I trusted each of them beyond measure and each one surpassed all I ever hoped for, as a soldier and as a friend._

_Please don't grieve long. I'm there with you as long as any of you carries my memory. I hope you remember me with love and forgive my mistakes. I hope somehow I can show you that death is not the end, rather just an ending of one way and the start of another. And I hope we all will meet again somehow, someway, that I can explain all that happened and why. Until that day, know I'm around the corner, out of sight, forging a new path, as Kinch might say. I'll always be around, so live, enjoy yourselves, and think of me, once in a while._

_James Kinchloe taught me more about courage and inner strength than anyone. He never complained and always tried to make my ideas reality, no matter how insane. Louis LeBeau showed me passion and patriotism in manners I never dreamed of and also of hope, of fighting when all seems lost. Andrew Carter is the epitome of good nature and of caring for the small things as well as laughter. And Peter Newkirk, well..._

_If the man I hope is carrying this letter is here, you'll know. Peter gave me everything he could and so much more. Of all my men, he was the one you'd expect the least from but the one who always was in my corner. I know he'll tell you he was to blame for my death, that somehow he should have been there. Don't believe him. He saved my life and sanity more than I could say and in return, I left him to face some things no one should ever have to face alone. On his back I placed more secrets and doubts and responsibilities than anyone else. I also gave him so little in return for shouldering that load. Yet he willingly tossed aside every doubt he had to join my madness and for that, I could never thank him or the others enough._

_So what now? I didn't want you to worry that I died alone or painfully. I died serving my country and fighting a great evil and also in the love of devoted family and friends. There are far worse ways to die. Take my love and memories and build new ones. And know I've extended our family from Connecticut to France and beyond._

_I love all of you so much. Until we meet again, know I'm there in everything you do._

_Rob_

Update June 1955

Group Captain Wellston survived his tenure as a Gestapo mole and returned to England. He is still active in MI-6 and often works with younger agents, particularly one special agent whom he leans on to be his sounding board. He has never married.

Wing Commander Turner retired from the RAF in 1953. He and his wife Gillian live in Nova Scotia but travel many places. They frequently return to Great Britain.

James Kinchloe retired from the military and settled back in Detroit, Michigan. He went to college and received an electrical engineering degree. He currently works for GM. He is married to a beautician, Angela, and they have two sons, Robert and Louis.

Louis LeBeau returned to a devastated France. While depressed over the loss of so many friends and family members, he did recover and currently runs a small restaurant with his wife Cosette. He has two children, a boy, Pierre Robert and a girl, Andrea Jamie.

Andrew Carter returned to Indiana but became restless. He travelled back to London to visit with Turner and Wellston and fell for a British woman. With his marriage to a British citizen and support from Wellston and Turner, he became a British citizen and joined MI-6. He is often assigned with Wellston, becoming one of Wellston's closest friends. He and his wife have one child, a daughter named Bobbi.

Peter Newkirk returned to London. He stayed there only two months, then travelled to the States. He visited Hogan's family, delivering Hogan's letter as promised, then visited Carter and Kinch, then headed to South America. He apprehended six wanted Nazi war criminals and rumors swirled that he killed others. He died in 1948, in a Buenos Aires hospital, from complications from pneumonia. His last words puzzled the staff as he clearly said "It's about time, Rob." Several medical staff reported the smell of roses.

His body was returned to England where Andrew and Mavis Carter had it buried with full honors. Turner, Wellston, Kinch, and LeBeau and their families all attended the service. A simple headstone reads "Peter Newkirk 1915-1948, heart and soul together at last." On the grave two rosebushes have been planted, one pink and one lavender.


End file.
